


Inherited Royalty

by planningconquest



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Child Abuse, Child Luke Skywalker, Childhood Trauma, Crash Landing, Escape, F/M, Found Family, Imperial Luke Skywalker, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Luke Skywalker cries, Manipulative Sheev Palpatine, Mentions of Slavery, Palpatine Raises Luke, Slavery, So much angst, So much childhood trauma, Sunburns, Tissue Warning, he does, luke doesn't think he deserves love, palpatine is shitty father, the OC dies painfully
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 42,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24949942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planningconquest/pseuds/planningconquest
Summary: Prince Luke Palpatine flees into the dark of the night when Lord Vader mounts an assault on the Imperial Palace. Lord Vader searches endlessly for the missing prince.
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader, Owen Lars & Luke Skywalker & Beru Whitesun, Owen Lars/Beru Whitesun, Sheev Palpatine & Darth Vader, Sheev Palpatine & Luke Skywalker
Comments: 134
Kudos: 829





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpellCleaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpellCleaver/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Heir](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24024442) by [SpellCleaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpellCleaver/pseuds/SpellCleaver). 



> This fic is very angsty and sad. This is your fair warning.

Luke was supposed to be studying. His textbook was open, his datapad screen was still lit, and there were a dozen more waiting for attention. The history of the Clone Wars wasn't going to study itself, and as much as Luke enjoyed learning about the war and all of the exciting battles, it was pushing four in the morning. He could hardly keep his eyes open. 

He was supposed to spend the night studying and then present a comprehensive presentation of the subject in the morning, in front of all of Father's admirals and generals and moffs. It was a punishment for his latest failure, and Luke was seriously debating letting his eyes fall shut, and his head thunk down on the desk just to catch a bit of sleep. It might be worth whatever punishment his father could think up if he could just... _sleep._

Would it be worth it to embarrass himself and his father in front of all of those powerful people? Making the Emperor and the future Emperor look like a pair of fools... would invite a punishment Luke was scared to even think about. 

He shivered, shook his head, and focused on the words swimming around in front of him. His room was quiet, the only lamp on sat on his desk, and Luke was alone. The nanny, the servants, and even the droids having been ordered away by the Emperor. All was quiet in the palace. 

Until it wasn't. 

Explosions, blaster-fire, and shouting erupted from outside. Studying forgotten, Luke raced to the window and stared down the front steps of the palace. Usually full with politicians, guards, and couriers, and senators, the wide steps were flooded with legions of stormtroopers. They stalked and skittered up the steps, taking cover behind plants, boulders, and pillars as the palace defenses opened fire. Where were the shields? Why hadn't they started up and barred the stormtroopers from entering? Why were stormtroopers attacking the palace? Gunships, dropships, and fighters screamed overhead, and the Imperial palace was under siege. Fighting echoed from the courtyard, and Luke caught sight of a black hand painted on the pauldron on a troopers pauldron. 

Lord Vader. His father's enforcer and student, and the hulking monster that haunted Luke's waking and sleeping hours. 

Fear caught in his throat as realization struck. Vader was here to kill his father...and Luke. 

"What?" What was Luke supposed to do? Find his father? Vader would be heading to his father to kill him. Find the guards? They might kill him _for_ Vader. Find shelter? Where could he hide? Where could he run? " _Nanny_?" His voice rose in fear, and she didn't appear, and Luke felt the cold of the palace turn glacial. Goosebumps raced up and down his arms as his breath turned to puffs of clouds in front of him. " _NANNY_!?" Would Vader kill her too? 

As he watched, the battle intensified. Soldiers and red-guards met hand-to-hand, drop ships fell out of the sky. Defense systems exploded, and the cold deepened. 

"Prince Luke!" He jolted from the window, turning on his bed to stare at the door. Someone was banging on it. "Prince Luke, are you in there?" 

Luke debated answering, and then the knocking came again, and he _knew_ that the man on the other side was genuine. Luke wasn't sure how, but it was the same way he knew when Vader was annoyed versus homicidal. "Yes." He called back, "I'm here. What's?" 

"I need you to open the door, Prince Luke," the man talked over him, his voice taking a new hint of worry. "Please, I'm here to help. Please open the door." 

"I can't!" He bit his lip. "I'm locked in." 

Silence, aside from the raging battle outside, reigned. " _What?"_

"I'm...locked in?" Why was he surprised? 

"That's." The man blustered " _a fire hazard!_ "

"You need a key," Luke called, climbing off the bed and racing to the door. Anticipation expanded in his chest, fear too, and the galaxy seemed to stand still as the stranger was silent a moment longer. "My nanny has one...but I'm not allowed to leave!" His father would be so angry! What if this was a test? What if this was staged? What if Luke was hallucinating? What if? 

"I'm going to find the key," the man used the same tone most adults had when they were trying to stay calm, but were really angry. "I'm going to find the key, Prince Luke. I need you to do something for me, please. Alright?" 

"Okay?" What was happening? Why was _anyone_ attacking the palace? What was Vader doing? 

"I need you to keep calm and put on some thick socks and some good shoes, alright?" 

"Um...okay?" 

"And get changed out of your pajamas."

Was it worth it to explain that he'd never gotten _into_ his pajamas? He was still wearing his court robes. "Um." 

"Can you do that for me, Prince Luke?" 

"Yes," Luke yanked off the heavy outer robes and tossed them to the ground. His movements were fueled by fear, terror, and the same anticipation that came before you jumped off a cliff and into rough water. He went to his closet, somewhere he wasn't supposed to go either, and looked around for clothes like the man described. It was hard to find thick socks, but he kicked off his slippers and pulled them on and then grabbed the shoes he wore when training. They were thick, heavy, and hard to run in. By the time he'd changed into something that was approaching _peasant_ style, the door was opening to let smoke billow through and revealed a man in a sooty uniform with captain's bars pinned to the front. He wasn't a red-guard, stormtrooper, and looked normal enough. He scanned the room, crossing it in a few heavy steps. 

"We need to go," he said brusquely, "you're in danger." 

"What's going on?" Luke asked, yelping as the sooty man grabbed his hand and began dragging him down the hallway. "What happening? Who are you? Is my father, alright? Why are stormtroopers attacking? Why?" Words died on his lips as they passed an open door. Nanny was sprawled across the threshold, eyes wide and blank, a blaster burn neatly centered in her forehead. Luke managed to drag the stranger to a halt, whispering a pained, " _Nanny_?" A vase was broken behind her. 

"You're better off without her," the stranger told Luke, dragging him again. "She didn't want to give me the key." 

"What? What's going on?" Luke's voice rose, revealing the shameful fear burning his chest. He _needed_ to know what was happening. "Please, tell me!" 

"No time, your highness." Unlike so many officers, he said the title with genuine respect. But he didn't lessen his grip and yanked Luke along the corridor and then down into the servants and slaves quarters. "Just hurry and follow me, we're running out of time.” 

"Time for what?" Luke yelped as they approached a turbolift door, pried open and revealing the gaping emptiness beyond it. "Captain." 

"Don't worry," the man nodded encouragingly at the service ladder on the side. "Climb down, or do you need me to carry you?"

He would get his clothes dirty! Nanny would be angry! His father would be furious! But...Nanny was dead! "I can do it," he said resolutely and gingerly clambered over and into the darkness. It pressed around him, and he went into the depths of the palace. Above him, the mysterious captain shut the doors, plunging them into further darkness. As much as he wanted to cry, to curl into a ball, and sob, Luke let his hand and feet work. 

"Captain?" His voice carried up and down the turbolift, and Luke clamped his mouth shut. 

"Just keep climbing," the captain whispered, voice echoing loudly despite itself. "Just go down." 

Was this a kidnapping? Was Luke complicit in his own kidnapping? Was he _letting_ this stranger kidnap him? As soon as his feet hit the bottom of the shaft, longer and further than he'd ever climbed, and deeper than he'd ever been. They had to be beneath the palace at this point. Luke could only peer through the darkness, trying to make out shapes and details. 

The captain's boots hit the bottom a moment later, and grabbed Luke's hand again and began to pull him. 

"Vader's going to try and kill my father, isn't he?" Luke muttered. They entered into a dimly lit service vent, and the captain had to crouch to get through. 

"Yes, your highness. Since I'm not sure who isn't supporting Vader, and who is, I thought it'd be best to extract you and take you somewhere safe."

"Are you kidnapping me?" He managed the courage to ask as the captain led him to a part in the floor, so far below the surface of the palace, that Luke was sure they were more than a few levels down. His arms and legs ached, but he refused to complain. Complaining only made things worse. The floor panel moved, and Luke gasped as he stared down at rock. 

"I'll lower you down first, your highness." Sweat tracked through the soot on his face, and he held out an equally dirty hand. He was encouraging, helpful, and loyal. Luke didn't trust him but took his hand. 

Wind brushed against his legs as he was lowered down, it plucked at his shirt and hair and blew dirt into his eyes. As his toes encountered the rock, he stumbled a bit and caught himself on a nearby boulder. It scraped his hands, and he knew if he could see well, that there would be blood on his hands. "Ow."

"You alright?" The captain was tall enough to stand on the rock _and_ move the floor tile back into place. As soon as it was sealed, they were in even grimmer darkness. "Your highness?" 

Luke's bottom lip trembled, and tears spotted the corners of his eyes, but he didn't answer. 

"Alright." Light appeared, and Luke squinted as it bounced to his face. "Your highness, you'll be okay. I'll make sure of it. I promise." 

"Where are we?"

"We're underneath the palace, one of the only places on the planet where they haven't done significant build-up in the last few centuries. We're actually standing on the tallest peak of the planet's surface!" The pen-light bounced around, revealing a mountain and the sloped sides. Support beams of stone, steel, and durasteel rose from various peaks to the flatness above them. "We have to go. I don't think I got all of the security cameras, and Vader's men could be after us."

"How do you know about this place?" Luke had never gone hiking, and he wasn't sure he liked the experience. Though he guessed that most people could _see_ when they went hiking and weren't fleeing assassination. 

"Oh, I'm a structural engineer. Captain Gottschalk, I knew this was here from the time I wrote my thesis a few years ago." 

"Oh," Luke stumbled and climbed over the rocks, biting back whimpers and cries as the night dragged on even further. He didn't realize he was drooping until he walked right into Captain Gottschalk's back when the man paused. "I'm sorry, Captain." 

"Are you alright?" Even in the dim pen-light, he could see the man's concern. Luke nodded and knew he wasn't believed. "Look, climb on my back." 

"I can walk." He wasn't going to be weak. He wasn't. When Vader was defeated, and his father expected him back, Luke wasn't going to let anyone think he was weak. "I'm fine." 

"If you say so." Instead of arguing, he raised the penlight. "Come on, not too far to my speeder, and then we're going to have to lay low." 

"Until my father calls for me?" Luke asked, staring up at the man's broad back and watching him tense. 

"Yes, your highness...until your father calls for you." 

#$#$#

Luke woke up dirtier than he'd ever been in his _entire_ life. Dirt, soot, grime, and some sort of sticky liquid that they'd had to climb through at seven in the morning. When they'd reached the hovel Captain Gottschalk had deemed safe enough, he hadn't even been able to _notice_ just how run down and pathetic it was. The captain had given him bottled water, which Luke had drunk halfway down. Gottschalk had gestured vaguely toward the sleeping area, and Luke had passed out as soon as he'd become horizontal. He slept, and he slept, and he slept until faint vibrations began to be too heavy for him to ignore any longer. 

Blearily, he peeled open an eye and found himself eye level with the captain's knee. His head was resting on the man's thigh, and they were no longer in the hovel. They were...in a cargo bay? On a ship? Luke sat up slowly, smacking his mouth open and closed. There was something fuzzy and uncomfortable in his mouth, had Captain Gottschalk...drugged him? 

His rescuer was wearing a long poncho, hiding his uniform, with a hood pulled over his head. His eyes were closed but blinked open as Luke moved around. After a wide yawn, he offered Luke a sad smile. 

"What...happened? Why are we on a ship? Did you _drug_ me?" Luke fired off his questions as fear rose to the back of his throat, and tears began to burn. " _Captain_."

"I'm sorry...Luke." He noticed the lack of 'your highness' immediately. Luke stiffened as he kneeled beside the man who had broken every rule Luke knew to break him out of his room and then escape from a burning palace. "Your father is dead, and the palace is in ruins. Lord Vader stole your throne and proclaimed himself Emperor." Luke's eyes got wider and wider as each sentence dropped apologetically into the air. Each bit of news was progressively more violent punches to the gut until Luke was sagging on his knees and staring blankly at the dirty wall. "I did drug you. I'm sorry, I had to get you off-world, and I wasn't sure how Vader's magic worked. Plus."

Whatever else the man had to say, died away in a random noise that echoed painfully in Luke's ringing ears. 

His father was dead. His father, the immortal tyrant, the most powerful Sith, the man who had formed the Empire...was dead? Just a few hours ago, Luke had been completing an assignment for him. Now...he was here. Dirty, grimy, smelly, and stuck in a cargo bay with a complete stranger. How had Vader killed him? Palpatine was the _strongest_. He knew more than anyone! Vader was his servant! Vader was his student! Vader wasn't supposed to be strong enough to defeat Luke's father! He was supposed to be weak! 

Except that his father had miscalculated. Vader _had_ gotten powerful, and he'd done the unthinkable. One Sith Lord was not going to support the claims to the throne from another Sith Lord's brat offspring. 

A few heartbeats passed as Luke waited for the grief to come. He waited until Captain Gottschalks faced twisted into concern, to shake his head. "Oh." 

"Oh?" The man blinked a few times, "your father is dead, and your throne was stolen, and all you can say is _oh_?" 

"Oh." Luke sat down, leaning against the wall. "What...are we doing? Where will I go now?" 

"I...we're going somewhere safe. I don't know yet. Far away from Vader.”

"Are you going to sell me?" Luke wondered. "To Vader?" 

"No, no, no, your highness. I promise I won't. I want to protect you." 

"Why did you kill Nanny?" 

Drawn up short, Gottschalk paused and then shrugged. "She refused to give up the key. She wanted you _locked_ in that room in the middle of a firefight. Part of the palace was already on fire, and she wanted to _leave_ you there. Why were you even locked in there?" 

"I...was being punished." He lowered his eyes to the floor, hoping Gottschalk wouldn't think less of him. To date, he'd never met an adult who _cared_ as much as he did. Even his prickly Nanny didn't have the same amount of respect for Luke after ten years than this stranger did after twenty minutes. "Father was...displeased with me." 

"Is that why you were awake?" 

Luke nodded and explained the nature of his task. He managed it while he rubbed his thumb around on the back of his wrist. Moving the dirt and soot around and grinding it into the cells and avoiding looking at the captain. If he had looked, he would have noticed the man's eyes widen and disgust mount in his eyes as the explanation continued. 

"You know, Luke," Captain Gottschalk said softly when he was finished. Luke glanced up. "You're very brave."

"If I were brave, I would have gone to my father." He shook his head. "I was a coward; I ran away." 

"You survived," the captain rubbed his jaw, "there's food on the liner. I'm going to get some. Stay down here and stay hidden." 

"Do we have tickets?" Luke wondered how one could sneak off a planet on lockdown. 

"Ha, no. I bribed our way on. Stay down and stay low. Don't let anyone see you."

"Yes, sir." Luke crouched against the wall and slid back to hide behind a crate. Captain Gottschalk rose and left with a faint smile. Luke yawned a few times, trying to parse through his thoughts as much as he was trying not to feel anything at all. He wanted to explore, he'd never been anywhere but Imperial Center. He'd never been on a starship. Exploring the cargo hold would be a nice place to start, but he'd been ordered to stay down and stay quiet. 

Eventually, he dozed off. His scattered dreams and impressions all centered on Vader bearing down on his father to slice his limbs off, inch by inch until he'd cut to the joint. Then starting on another limb and repeating the process. It was gruesome, and when Gottschalk reappeared with water and a package of food, he was grateful for the distraction. 

"It's alright," the man waited for Luke to emerge from his hiding spot. Like a mouse from a hole, drawn by food. "Nothing spectacular, it's just some soup." 

"Thank you, sir." The man sat down, producing a spoon, and two slices of bread. He opened the container to hold out to Luke. "Oh, thank you."

"You're welcome," Gottschalk leaned back as Luke began to spoon up the soup and gnaw on the bread. "It's not bad. Not the best, but not bad for a refugee liner." 

"It's good," Luke lied and ate until the container was empty, and there were only crumbs left of the bread. 

"I'm glad to see you've still got an appetite." 

Luke shrugged, sometimes his father had restricted his meals as punishments, and Luke had learned not to complain years ago. 

"We're going to land at a port in a few hours, and then we're going to spend a few days laying low and getting disguises and then credits. Running will be easier if we get a ship." The man paused. "You should get some more sleep." 

As much as he didn't want to see his father getting sliced to pieces, Luke wasn't sure the waking nightmare he was living through was any better. So he leaned against Captain Gottschalk's side, let the older man wrap an arm around him, and fell back asleep. This time dreaming of a sea of red being replaced by a sea of white. 

When the liner came to a station, Luke and Gottschalk were off. Luke, carried in the older man's arms with a blanket thrown over his back. To present, the captain said, the image of a sleeping child. Since Luke was small for his age, people would think he was the proper age to be carried through a crowded spaceport. All the while, Luke clung to Captain Gottschalk, his breathing coming out in short, terrified bursts. He kept his eyes closed, burying his face against the still-smelly shoulder, and did his best to present the image of a war-weary child being evacuated from an embattled planet. 

No one had _ever_ held him like this. Not even Nanny, not even when he had nightmares of Vader cutting his hand off. Not when he cried so hard, it was difficult to breathe. He was a prince, and he was supposed to act like a prince, and princes didn't cry. They didn't need attention. But now? With Captain Gottschalk's arms wrapped around him, supporting him, and cradling him, Luke never felt more safe or frightened. 

Everything he'd ever known was _gone_. In a single night, Vader had murdered his father and stolen his birthright and was probably hunting down Luke. Luke had no friends, no allies, no support, and was totally reliant on the assistance of this strange man. Luke still didn't know _why_ he'd bothered to save him or help him. He didn't question it, because the idea that the captain would turn on him and sell him to Vader or to the slavers that lurked out in the outer rim was too frightening to contemplate. 

"You alright, kid?" There's a warm hand on his back, rubbing comforting circles. Luke only stared into the artificial darkness, warm but smokey, and squeezed his arms wrapped around the man's neck. "Alright, we're almost out. I'll put you down when we hit the city." Luke didn't respond, only squeezing his eyes shut and held on that much more tightly. 

For two days, they hopped from spaceport to spaceport, Luke hiding behind the dirt and soot he'd accumulated since fleeing the palace. Captain Gottschalk ditched his uniform and had gotten Luke a large, gray poncho. It hung over his eyes, down to his shoes, and went far past his hands. On colder nights in space, it served as a blanket and a bed. By the time they reached the outer rim, Luke had snippets and whispers that Vader had solidified his power and was now the undisputed Emperor. Everyone seemed to think Luke was dead, a fact that made Gottschalk's face go white with anger but cheered Luke up. If Vader thought he was dead, then he wouldn't be looking to erase the last of Palpatine's bloodline. 

He might not know where he was going, but at least he wasn't going back. 

"Captain." Luke was _tired._ He was tired of the dirt, tired of running, and so sick of being scared that he'd fallen into a dim apathy just a day ago. For the first time, they stayed on a planet more than a night, and a friendly shopkeeper who had seen Luke drooping beside Gottschalk had offered them the back room for the night. There was one cot, an assortment of clothes, and a big enough pile of blankets that they'd easily made a nest for Luke. 

"Luke?" As bad as Luke looked, the captain was worse. His face was twisted into exhaustion, his eyes were lined and sagging, but he moved and walked relentlessly onward. He did what needed to be done, and Luke respected him immensely for it. 

"You should get cleaned up," he pointed toward the refresher. "There's a sonic in there." 

"It's fine; you should go. I can wait."

"No," Luke pointed again. "You need some sleep too. Just go get clean, and I'll go after you." 

"Luke." But the man was already moving, and Luke plopped on top of his nest to wait. When he emerged, slightly steaming, Gottschalk dropped onto the cot, pulled the blankets over his shoulder, and passed out. For several minutes the would-be Emperor waited, and when he was sure that the man wasn't going to wake, he took a sonic shower himself.

When he climbed into his nest, far from home and his only protector, a random captain whose motivations were unclear _and_ still suspect, Captain Gottschalk slept like a corpse, only the faint rise and fall of his chest as proof of life. He was braver than Luke would ever be, having tossed everything he knew away for such a pathetic child. Luke _knew_ he wasn't worth the effort. His father used to debate if Luke was worth the money it took to house and feed him. If he was worth it when his mother was only a whore and Luke was tainted by that fact. Tarkin used to sneer that Luke would make excellent cannon fodder when he got old enough. 

Luke rubbed his face with his sleeve, not sure when he’d begun crying and didn’t manage to stop until he had passed out, and the sobs petered out from sheer exhaustion. 

The next day Captain Gottschalk obtained a ship. More of a pile of junk than a ship that rattled and shook as it rose from the planet’s surface. He tried to shoot Luke a smile, but his knuckles were white as he gripped the controls. It did nothing to calm the boy. 

“We’re going to be alright,” Gottschalk promised, and Luke _knew_ he was wrong. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he knew. “I’m sure the ship is better than it looks.” 

“Right,” Luke gulped, holding tightly to his seat as the man pulled back on the hyperspace lever. A sickening feeling bloomed in his stomach, and it took all of Luke’s self-control not to cry as the stars extended into star lines. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.” Chanting it didn’t make it so, and when they were forcibly ejected from hyperspace a few hours later with the ship screaming and falling apart around them, Luke’s voice was too hoarse to scream.

The galaxy tilted around them, spinning again and again as something sparked, and something else ignited. Twins suns moving in and out of his view so quickly, Luke almost didn’t recognize that there was a planet. An orange and yellow dust ball, getting larger and larger in the viewport as every second passed. There were a few signs of civilization, and Luke dimly noted a canyon gaping through the hemisphere. 

“We’re going to be okay!” Captain Gottshalk promised as he wrestled with the control. “I’m going to land this thing!” The ship rattled more as they hit the atmosphere. A bolt popped out of the bulkhead and pinged around the cockpit only coming to a stop when it collided against Captain Gottschalk’s head. He slumped forward, losing his grip on the controls, and sent the ship careening away from the town and toward the desert. 

Now Luke _screamed_ , reaching out to his unconcious protector and the abandoned controls. A frantic child _reaching_ out of instinct and desperation. Untapped potential rose to meet the circumstances, and probability was left behind as the ship slowed from a screaming descent. As the planet approached, the ship rose just enough that the belly scrapped against a sand dune. It sent the ship careening wildly out of control. Luke covered his face with his arms, ducking away from the shattering transperisteel as best he could. 

Eventually, it rolled to a halt, and Luke was thrown clear of his ruined harness and into the sand dune. Stunned to still be alive, he laid there for several minutes, staring at the blue sky above them, shielding the unforgiving vacuum above. The groaning, hissing ship just a few yards away, pulled him back into reality. 

“Captain?” The word hurt, but Luke persisted with all of the courage and strength so many had doubted the existence of. “Captain!” Captain Gottschalk was unconscious, his eyes closed, and blood pooling from the wound on his head. He was still breathing, strapped into his seat still, and too still to be healthy. “Please,” Luke climbed into the ship, avoiding the jagged edges and broken glass. “Please, get up! Captain! Wake up! Please, wake up! Please!” He reached the man, shaking his leg. _“Please! Get up!”_

Captain Gottschalk did not reply, and he did not move. 

#$#$3

Owen Lars was a man who didn’t like surprises. He didn’t like strangers on his land, and he didn’t like fools trying to sell him things he didn’t need. For all of his hardness, Owen Lars wasn’t a cruel man. His step-mother had always insisted that people needed help, and he couldn’t think of anyone who might need more help than a bloody child dragging an equally bloody and comatose man through the sand. 

The boy was visibly struggling, the man a dead weight over his tiny shoulders. Forcing himself to take step after steps. Watery blue eyes met Owen’s, and the boy’s face lit up with equal parts fear and joy. Owen was racing across the sands before the boy had a chance to ask for help. 

Skidding to a halt beside him, he helped the boy lower the man to the ground and began inspecting the head wound. It was bandaged the best it probably could be, but it still soaked through. His face was slack, covered in hundreds of scratches and cuts. He was wheezing as he breathed. 

“Can you help him, please,” the boy was dry-eyed and glassy, he was equally covered in injuries and scratches. Sand burn and sunburn pinked his face to a dangerous degree. He had blond hair that was half matted with blood and sand. If he was older than 10, Owen would eat his hat. “Please, sir. Please help. I.” 

“Alright, lad,” Owen reacted and decided to avoid thinking. Hoisting the much larger man into his arms, his impression of the boy skyrocketed. How the lad had managed to drag him this far through the desert, he’d never guess. “My homestead isn’t far, can you walk?”

“Yes, sir,” he stumbled but righted himself. “I can walk. Please, save him. He’s my protector. You have to save him, please.” 

“What happened?” He began moving back toward the farm, grateful he hadn’t tried to go far. There hadn’t been any noise of a crash, and he hadn’t seen any evidence of a space battle in their quadrant. Just how far had the boy dragged him?

“Our ship crashed. It broke apart, and we crashed.” 

“Alright, how far?” 

“I don’t know,” the boy shook his head. “I don’t know...it’s been a day or two. I...lost track.” 

How was he still alive? Surviving that long in the desert was near impossible, without water and injured? Dragging this much dead weight? Owen was getting a bit tired already, and he was a grown man. 

“Alright, son.” He nodded at the white domes of his homestead coming into view. “Run ahead and tell my wife that she needs to get the cot ready and to send a comm to the doctor. Her name is Beru.” It was a risk to send the boy running, but Owen didn’t want to have to stagger down the stairs and wait for Beru to set up the cot to set him down. 

“Yes, sir!” With a sharp salute, the boy was off. Jogging as best he could through the shifting sand dunes until he disappeared from view. Owen continued to carry the man. He wasn’t a slaver or a pirate, and he wasn’t a long-time criminal. The man was too muscular, too well-fed, and had too few scars for that sort of stuff. What did the boy mean, protector? 

Knowing the boy was probably frightening his wife, running around covered in blood and screaming for the doctor and the cot, Owen picked up his pace. When he did reach the homestead, Beru was waiting just inside the door with a pinched expression that widened into horror as she caught sight of his passenger. 

“ _Owen_ ,” she breathed, rushing to help him. Together they lowered him onto the cot as the boy hovered worriedly by the door. 

“Our ship crashed,” he blurted, “can you save him. Please, I’m begging you. I don’t have any money, but.” 

“It’s alright, son,” Beru grunted as she cut neatly through the man’s pants to reveal a large series of bruises. “Don’t worry about that, just go get yourself a cup of milk, and we’ll take care of your…”

“Protector,” the blond shuffled uneasily. “He’s my protector. Please,” for the first time, there was something other than shock on the young face. Grief was familiar enough, and Owen sighed. “Please, _save him._ ” 

“We’ll do our best.” Beru promised, “go get yourself a glass of milk, and when the doctor comes, tell him we’re down here.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He was off like a shot, and she hoped he was getting himself something to drink before standing guard. 

They paused as soon as he left and exchanged a glance. Beru’s hands trailed up to the man’s head and hovered over the impressive wound. For several seconds they were quiet, and Owen nodded. 

“We’ll get him cleaned up,” she whispered, turning her head to the open door. “Do you have anything?”

“I’ve got some rags,” Owen stared at the man, amazed by his resilience, but knowing it was only delaying the inevitable. It would take more money and more attention and more medical equipment than was on Tatooine to save his life. “What do we tell the lad?” 

“Nothing yet,” his wife, wonderful and practical, began to clean the wound. “The doctor won’t be here for a while yet. I’ll be here, go get the boy some water.” 

“Alright,” Owen Lars paused to watch the wheezing, stuttering rise and fall of the man’s chest. “Alright.” Turning on his heel, he followed the boy out. 

Beru Lars turned back to her patient and continued to clean. 

#$#$#

Luke’s skin had never felt so tight, his face, his head, and his eyes hurt, and he knew he was dangerously dehydrated and sick. He didn’t care; he kept his eyes on the dusty, wretched horizon for a speeder or swoop, or _anything_ that would carry a doctor. He didn’t care if he burnt to a crisp out here, he’d go carry the doctor back if he had to. 

“Son?” He jolted around to see the man named Owen stepping out of the door. He was taller than Luke, with a short beard and a weatherbeaten face. His clothes were dusty, shabby, and sand shook from their folds with every step. “You need water.” 

“Water?” Suddenly, Luke was parched, and he took the cup held out to him with trembling hands. He nearly dropped it, the weight of the cup almost too much for his blistered hands. Owen caught it and knelt beside Luke. Wrapping an arm around Luke’s waist and pulling him back, Luke was surprised to find himself halfway sitting on the man’s knee. “I’m alright; I can drink.” 

“Slowly,” Owen warned in a tone that spoke of long experience. “You have to drink slowly, understand?” 

“I?” Owen raised the cup to his lips, and Luke’s trembling fingers wrapped around it on instinct, even if the older man held its weight. The first few drops of water that crossed over his lips nearly made him gag. Warm, but cooling, all the same, practically evaporating on his tongue. He tried to yank the cup closer, but Owen had been correct to keep his grip. Slowly, agonizingly, Owen let him sip the water. When he pulled the cup away, Luke’s hands reached out, but Owen’s arm kept his still. “Please, water.” 

“It’s alright, son,” Owen promised. “Too much at once, and you’ll be worse off.” 

“But I’m so thirsty, please. Just a little bit more.” If Luke had any water to cry, he would have. Owen’s arm around his waist was a chain and an anchor. 

“It isn’t safe. Trust me, can you tell me your name?”

“My name?” Luke licked dry and cracked lips. “My name is Luke.” 

“Luke?” 

“Uh...just, Luke.”

“Where’s your family, Luke?” 

“Dead,” he told the man flatly. Murdered by his greatest enemy, who would never face justice. Owen didn’t look at Luke with much pity; he certainly didn’t try to offer assurances; he only nodded. 

“And who is your protector?” 

“Is he going to be okay?” Luke turned toward the building, water momentarily was forgotten. “Please, Mr. Owen, is he going to be okay?” 

“It’s too early to tell, that’s a nasty head wound.” 

“He’s going to survive,” Luke twisted in the man’s grip, even as he spoke he knew it was a lie. “He’s got to, Mr. Owen. He’s just got to.” 

“Beru is doing her best,” Owen told him, “what’s his name?” 

“Gottschalk...Ari Gottschalk. He’s…” 

“A brave man,” the man nodded a bit. “Luke, you’ve done the best you can for him. You need to do the best for you right now.” 

“For me?” Luke wondered. He wouldn’t leave his post. He couldn’t! What if the doctor came and...got lost...in a small homestead? “What?”

“You’re in danger, Luke,” Owen said with the quiet assurance, and authority one got from living on a rock like this for his entire life. “You’re dehydrated and sunburned. You’re blistered and injured, and you need to come rest. I don’t know how you haven’t fallen over dead, but you’re mighty close right now.” 

“I’m fine,” Luke insisted. He didn’t even know Luke! Why was he going through the effort? They should save their energy for Gottschalk. “Beru said I could come to watch.” 

“The first thing that doctor is going to do is tell you to rest, rehydrate, and recover.” Owen’s gruff voice laid out the fact in a practical, logical manner. He expected Luke to understand and to act accordingly. He trusted Luke to make a decision but would enforce his own if necessary. “Let’s go make his visit a little easier, alright?”

“I want him to focus on Ari,” he nodded. “Not me.” Luke couldn’t see the pity in Owen’s eyes as the older man stood finally, and escorted him back inside. 

#$#$3

For an off-world ten-year-old, Luke was remarkably quiet, obedient, and brave. Even if he flinched whenever Owen made a sudden move or scanned the exits for escape or attackers. Still, he didn’t even whimper as Owen punctured each of the blisters on his hands and feet and coated them in ointment before wrapping them in badges. Cutting open one the aloe plants, he slathered his wrists, arms, face, and shoulders until the ten-year-old was almost shiny with oil. 

It was for the best that he’d carried his protector the way he had. Gottschalk’s body had protected him from most of the sun. 

He worked in silence, Luke staring at the wall with the same vacant gaze that Cliegg used to get. When Owen deemed that he’d done the best he could, he stepped back. Most of the blood hadn’t even been his, just the results of trying to protect his protector. 

Luke stirred. “Can I see him?”

“Not yet, Beru’s still with him. He’s pretty badly injured.” 

“I know,” Luke nodded and brightened as Owen held the cup toward him. He was allowed a few more sips before it was pulled away. “I’ve seen worse.” 

“I’ll bet,” Owen grumbled. “Wait here. I’ll get you something to wear.” In the process of cleaning the boy up, they’d had to dispose of his bloodied and torn shirt. He’d let Luke keep the pants because they could be salvaged, and he doubted the lad wanted to remove them in the first place. “Don’t walk on your feet.” 

“Yes, sir.” Again, too obedient for an offworlder. Had Luke been a slave? Had he escaped a horrible family? Had he been imprisoned? Had an angry father beaten the disobedience out of him? 

Returning as quickly as possible, Owen held up one of his old shirts for inspection. Threadbare, probably older than Luke, it lurked in the gray area where its fate was still between rags or reuse by a desperate Owen. 

“It’s big.” 

“It still works,” he helped Luke into it and winced in reflex as he pulled him off the table and into his arms. “Alright, let’s see Beru.” 

#$#$#

Luke _wanted_ to fall asleep. He wanted to lean against the man’s shoulder and fall asleep. Anything to avoid the pain assaulting him from every direction. His eyes hurt more than anything, and he wasn't sure if it was the fact that they were underground, but it was getting dimmer around him. 

“Beru?” Owen’s voice was hushed as if they might disturb the comatose patient. She glanced up but didn’t stop in her work. Luke leaned forward, squinting at his protector and taking stock of the damage. Even cleared of blood, the head wound looked worse than ever. It was still leaking blood onto the bandage. Cuts, bruises, and scrapes covered his body. At his feet, lay a neatly folded sheet. 

It was as bad as Owen said, and Luke had been too busy dragging him through the sand and dirt to notice. 

“He’s okay?” Luke asked, squinting again. “He’s alive?” 

“He’s doing the best that he can, Luke.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve done what I can for him; we just need to see what the doctor says. Owen, did you?”

“He’s taken care of,” Owen nodded to Luke, but Luke was entranced by how still...how silent his protector was. For the weeks he’d known Captain Gottschalk, the man had never been quiet, even when he was exhausted. He moved and spoke, and he helped Luke about. It made the feeling quivering in the bottom of his stomach worsen. “Just need to get him to bed.”

“No,” Luke squirmed to be put down. Owen’s grip tightened, and Luke glared. “I want to stay with him. I have to stay with him. He’s hurt, and it’s all my fault. He was trying to help, and he’s hurt. I can’t leave him alone.”

“Luke,” Beru said gently, which made her next words worse. “You can’t help him.”

“I have to!” He shoved himself away from Owen, but the man didn’t let go. His skin pulled, hurting so must that he thought it was about to split open. “I have to stay. I.” 

“Alright,” Owen nodded, “alright, calm down. Don’t hurt yourself, son.” 

“I’m not your son!” He shouted, “I’m not! I’m not! My father is dead! I’m not anyone’s son! I want to stay with him! I have to!” He shoved at Owen again, and nearly tumbled to the ground. Owen caught him at the last minute and let him down with more patience than he’d expected from the man. “I’m staying.” 

“Then stay, won’t do you any good. You’ll just get sicker and sicker, and then what good will Gottschalk’s protection be?” 

“I’m staying!” Wobbling on aching feet, he made it as far as the cot and sank down beside it. He reached up with bandaged, trembling fingers to grasp Gottschalk’s limp digits. Wasn’t this how people did it? Holding hands to make them feel better? Gottschalk had held his hand through spaceports, empty buildings, and their escape. It made Luke feel better; maybe it would help?

He was dimly aware of Owen and Beru talking before they left. Luke stared at the captain’s face, and then the rise and fall of his chest; the only sign of life. 

“Please wake up,” Luke whispered, biting his lip and pausing as he tasted the foul grease Owen had insisted he spread over them. “Please, I need you to wake up. I need you…” he gulped down the lump in his throat. “I’m too scared. I don’t know what to do. I’m _useless_.” His eyes hurt too much, and no matter how much he scrubbed at them, the feeling that there was sand in them never faded. “I promise I’ll do better next time. I really will, just please wake up. Please,” he lowered his head to the edge of the cot, feeling the warm metal pressing against his forehead. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you got hurt because of me. I’m sorry you had to help and...and... _please, wake up._ ” All the while, Gottschalk remained silent and still. Not even his fingers twitched when Luke squeezed.

Just down the hall, Owen and Beru listened with tired understanding. 

At some point, he must have fallen into a painful, feverish sleep. He was asleep through the process of the doctor arriving, and Owen and Beru moving Luke to a collection of blankets. All while the doctor examined Captain Gottschalk and came to the same conclusion the moisture farmers had. 

It was a miracle he wasn’t dead already, and he didn't have much time left. When the doctor asked if he should wake Luke up, they shook their heads and invited the doctor to stay the night. Owen went to bed, and Beru took guard up by the door. 

When Luke woke up, the sandy feeling in his eyes had worsened, and he opened them to see the room in a dim, hazy way that blurred the edges of corners and elongated the lights. His hands and feet _ached_ so much that even trying to make a fist brought tears to his eyes. He didn’t even attempt to stand and barely managed to sit up. His skin was so _tight,_ and it _ached_. He groped for Gottschalk’s hand and tried to make himself comfortable. His breathing was tight as he listened to the wheezing rattle escaping the older man’s chest with every exhale. 

“Luke?” He didn’t turn as Beru spoke up. “The doctor is here.” 

“Can you?” Luke turned to the unfamiliar man, tall and gangly with bright red hair and an explosion of freckles over his face. “Can you save him. Please, doctor. Please save him.” 

“Luke,” he knelt down, and Luke closed his eyes even as he wished he could close his ears. “I need to see to your burns and injuries.” 

“No, you need to work on him.” He shook his head. “You have to save him.” 

“I’ve been here for hours,” the doctor said, “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.” 

“Oh,” Luke nodded and endured the painful process with the stoicism he had been trained to exhibit. Even the reapplication of the leaves oil, bandaging, and reapplying ointment to the many blisters on his hands and feet, and the man was shining a tiny light into his eyes. 

“Do you feel like you have sand in your eyes?” Doctor Yium, as he introduced himself, asked.

“Yes...it won’t go away.” 

“That is common with sun blindness.” 

“Sun blindness?” Luke yelped.

“It won’t last long, 24 to 36 hours at the most. Are you having trouble seeing?” 

“Yes?” 

“Then, if you lose your vision, it’ll come back. You weren’t out in the desert long enough to really do any permanent damage. Mrs. Lars, re-hydration is key here for Luke.” Luke jolted; he hadn’t even realized she was watching. If he weren’t already familiar with the scrutiny and judgment of strangers, Luke would have been uncomfortable. “No running, no jumping, and no going outside for a few days. Son, you just need to rest at this point. I don’t think you’ve got a concussion, and I have no idea how you managed to do what you did, but you need to rest. It’s going to be a rough couple of days.”

“What about Gottschalk?” Luke was back in the enormous shirt and still refusing to leave the man’s side. “Is he going to be okay? Can you save him?” 

The tense silence that followed was enough. Luke squeezed his eyes shut and did his best to hold Gottschalk’s hand as tightly as he could manage. “No, he’s got to live. He’s just...he has to. He’s all I’ve got! No! You’re supposed to help him! You’re supposed to help!” He was spewing nonsense; Luke knew that his father would never have tolerated it. No one but Gottschalk would deal with it, but the man was Luke’s _last_ link to the life he’d known. He was Imperial. He knew Luke was the prince; he _helped_ Luke because he was loyal. If he died, then Luke would be alone. Adrift on a planet, he didn’t know with total strangers. They were helpful strangers, but still strangers. 

Part of him was angry that he was this selfish. Selfish to want Gottschalk to survive just to help him, selfish to be afraid of being alone more than his protector dying. 

“Luke,” Owen patted his back, not sunburned but aching from carrying Gottschalk as far as he had. “There’s not much anyone could have done.” 

“NO! I was supposed to help him! He needs to live. He’s got to!”

“Luke,” he turned and encountered the edge of a cup. Owen let him drink more than he had last night and drew it away. “Luke, that’s not a head wound we could treat.” 

“But I was supposed to save him!” Luke patted the limp hand beneath his. The familiar tendons muscles and the new scars moving beneath skin. “Please, there’s got to be something.” 

The pair of moisture farmers were silent, and tension fell. 

“How...how long?” He was the Imperial Prince. He was supposed to be the Emperor of the known galaxy, but he was here. Mostly blind, sunburned, dehydrated, injured, and kneeling beside the cot of a man he’d only known for a few weeks. At the mercy of complete strangers and the elements, dependent on their kindness and just as insecure as he’d been on his father’s. 

“A few hours at least,” the doctor said, “a few days at most.” 

“But,” Luke whispered, “he _can’t_ die. He can’t. Please, there’s got to be something. Anything?” 

There was only silence, and Luke glanced over at Owen. The man shrugged sympathetically, and Luke had to swallow the lump in his throat again. 

#$#$ 

Owen peeked in through the door to their machine shop where they had set up the cot. Their patient was still breathing, getting more and more labored by the passing hour. He hadn’t moved and nor had Luke. 

Luke kept up vigil beside his protector. He was mostly offered blank stares at the man’s face, possibly sun blindness kicking in. Owen wasn’t sure, and he didn’t want to disturb the young man except to bring his water and help him eat. At times when he thought Owen and Beru weren’t around, he begged Gottschalk to wake up, to live, to move even a little bit to show that he was still alive. His soft voice, scratched and damaged, offering promises to be good, to listen, to do better next time if he’d just wake up. They were soft, gentle pleas that yanked Owen’s heart to his knees, and threatened to shatter the delicate veneer of stoicism he’d worn since finding the boy and his protector. 

He would hardly consent to be away from the bed long enough to have his own medications reapplied or to drink water. Owen knew that he’d probably end up crying most of his water out anyway after Gottschalk died. 

With one last glance at the despondent child and the unresponsive man, Owen moved toward the kitchen for some water. 

“Owen?” His wife came up from behind, and he already knew what she was going to say. 

“We’ll have to check with the Darklighters,” He rubbed his chin and blinked sweat out of his eyes. “To see if they have some hand-me-downs for Luke.”

“We’ll keep him?” She asked, already knowing it had been a foregone conclusion the second they knew Gottschalk wasn’t going to live and leave Luke alone in the unforgiving universe. 

“Boy’s got to have a place to grow up.”

“Did you finish the grave?” 

“Yes,” he sank down at the kitchen table. The last time he’d dug a grave had been for his father. The broken husk of his father passing away only a few years after his step-mother. Angry, furious, and lashing out at anyone, it had been a relief to dig his grave after three years of constant anger directed his way. 

Owen had sworn, then and there, that he’d do better by his own children. He’d make sure they could survive in the desert and the galaxy, but there was too much heat from the suns during the day to bring any heat from anger into the house at night. But children had never come. They were left alone in their homestead, collecting more and more water each season. Raising their wealth each time, but there were no children. Beru often saw the water they’d collected, more than any season previous, as a taunt. They _had_ the water to take care of a child, to raise one, to love one, but they’d never had one. Now they had a broken, damaged offworlder child, who was just as alone as they were. He’d drink that extra water and waste in tears and weeping, and Owen hoped that would be the case. 

Before his father’s, he’d had help with his step-mother’s. Anakin had been there, dry-eyed, and still wearing his Jedi robes. Digging into the unforgiving planet and laying their mother to rest with the same bitter stoicism that former slaves clung to their whole lives. Anakin had done most of the work, digging furiously at a desperate pace that left Owen far behind. Anakin had carved her gravestone, and he’d prepared her body for burial. 

Never before had he buried an offworlder, he’d never have cause to. He didn’t know how the man wanted to be buried or if he had rites, or if the usual ones from Tatooine would work. 

“Here,” Beru pressed a cup of water into his hands. 

“How long?” He asked. 

“A few hours at most now. His breathing is getting too hard...he won’t make it much longer.” 

“And Luke?” 

“He’s been drinking when I bring him water, but he hasn’t moved. He won’t move.” 

“Hmm,” she sat beside him, and they laced their hands together. “He’s a strong one; he’ll survive.” 

“I saw the wreck the morning when I went to check the vaporators. He dragged him a fair distance.”

“Did you get anything useful?” 

“Plenty of parts we can use, wire, connectors, and a few other bits and bobs. The Jawas were rolling over the hill when I was leaving.” 

“You,” they paused at a faint shift in the air. Standing as one, they moved down the hall, across the compound, and into the garage. 

Gottschalk was still breathing faintly, each breath visibly harder than the last. 

The countdown had begun. 

#$#$3

Luke felt the air weigh on every breath he took, oppressive and dark. Even if he couldn’t really see his protector’s face anymore, he continued to drink in the sight of him as best he could. The last real memory he would have of the man who had saved him was of his bloody face and labored breathing. A hazy memory, since Luke could hardly see anymore. His field of vision narrowing with each passing second, and he begged it to stay open just long enough to ensure Gottschalk was comfortable until he died. 

Luke could hardly see anything, even the outline of his own hands were too hard to focus on. His eyes ached with nonexistent grit, each time he opened his eyes, the light faded even further. 

“No,” blurted, clinging to the man’s sleeve. A shadow moved across his field of vision. Their steps were too light to be Owen’s or Beru’s, and Luke glanced up to see a dark figure in dark robes standing beside him. They weren’t the black robes of the inquisitors or Vader. These robes looked comfortable to move in, to wear, and they hung off broad shoulders over which a pole with a lantern hanging from the end of it lay. “No!” Grabbed onto the robes, and the figure started. As if they hadn’t expected Luke to see them, much less grab at them. Luke didn’t get an impression of a face, but he sensed they were surprised. “Please,” he begged, his whole body shaking with suppressed grief. “Please, don’t take him. Not yet, please.” His fingers ached, but he kept his grip tight. “ _Please_. _No_.” 

The figure tilted its head to the side, as if to consider Luke’s plea, and then came something almost like a pat on the head. He’d never even seen their arms move. “ _PEACE, LITTLE ONE_.” Then they were gone. When Luke blinked, Captain’s Gottschalks chest fell for the last time. A desperate, wheezing noise that rattled through his head. For several seconds, with his failing vision, Luke watched the man’s face finally relax, and he looked at peace. 

He blinked again, and he was finally plunged into darkness.. Hearing Owen and Beru approach from behind, Luke put his head down and began to sob. Their hands landed gently on his burnt shoulders, offering the best comfort they could when even the most basic physical comforts were agony. 

His blinked tears out of his eyes, unable to see the fabric and floor they stained. He squeezed the limp hand again and sobbed until he couldn’t cry anymore. 

When Luke did manage to stop crying, Owen was back with a cup of water. Pressing it to trembling lips and carrying the nominal weight. He tried to help, and he tried to peer around, but he was moving in darkness. Which he told the man as soon as the water was taken away. 

“Sun blindness wears off,” Owen told him. “You’ll be able to see in a few days.” 

“What about Gottschalk? What are we going to do? He’s...he’s dead.”

“I know, Luke.” Owen sighed, “we’ll prepare him for burial, and we can bury him tonight.” 

“Can we wait until I can see?” Luke gulped, already knowing the answer. 

“I’m sorry,” Beru leaned over his shoulder, careful of the burn. She smelled faintly like flowers and oil. “But we can’t keep bodies around in this heat.” 

“But...how long?” 

“Not very long.” 

Luke had never felt more like glass, a decoration that had to be handled with the utmost care to avoid shattering. “Very well.” He heard them rise and start moving around the room until they began to work. Now he understood why Beru had set the ancient sheet at the end of the bed. He heard fabric move, and then Beru patted his hand. 

It was a sign to let go of Gottschalk's hand so they could wrap it. It was his sign to let go. It was. 

“Luke?” 

“I’m sorry,” he bowed his head, carefully extracting his fingers before placing his hand back on the cot. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” Owen said, “come here and wait. We’ll be done soon.” Luke shuffled back until he hit the opposite. He couldn't see the proceedings but listened intently to every muttered word and swish of fabric. After a few minutes, there was another sigh, followed by a heavy grunt. Owen clearly weighed down, moved from the cot toward the door. Luke instinctively reached toward Beru as she approached him, hoisting him into her arms so as to avoid hurting his feet any further. 

It must have been night outside because the heat was not nearly as oppressive. He turned his head about, listening to the wind against the sand and buildings, and the heavy steps preceding them. 

The lost, would-be Emperor and his fallen protector, both in the arms of two outer-rim moisture farmers. He tried to think of what his father might have said of his display, of his foolish vigil, and the injuries he might have avoided if he was stronger. Those thoughts hurt too much, so Luke shied away from them. 

“Do you want to say something, Luke?” Beru asked as Owen grunted, and a heavy thud followed soon after. Luke shook his head.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Anything, Luke.”

“I’m...glad to have met you.” He struggled to think of what his father would say at a funeral. Luke didn’t know; he’d never been to one. “Thank you.” It felt so inadequate, but the words closed up his throat. 

“Alright,” she turned toward the homestead, and Luke gripped her dress. 

“No. No. I want to stay.”

“Okay,” she turned back around and helped Luke to the ground. He knelt in the sand, running his fingers through and over it. All the while, he listened to Owen shovel the dirt and sand into the grave. Eventually, the moisture farmer stopped and plopped down next to Luke with a sigh. 

“Mr. Owen.” he squeezed a handful of sand before letting it run through his finger. “What..what will happen to me?” 

“Well, Beru set up the second bedroom. Should be right for your size for a while.” 

“My size?”

“‘Course, you’re small. We only need to get some things from the Darklighters. They’ll be happy to help. When you heal up, you can help with chores and such.” 

“Am I…” Luke was afraid to voice his thoughts. Stranded in the darkness, they were his only help, his only guides now. “Am I a slave? Are you going to sell me?” How much money could they get for him? He was injured, but his father had always told Luke he’d fetch at least 10,000 credits. 20,000 if he learned something valuable. 

“No,” Owen said firmly, and Luke believed him. “No. I watched my step-mother...suffer slavery. I watched my step-brother...a slave from the day he was born to the day he died. I won’t stand it. I won’t abide by it. I won’t deal with them.”

“No, Luke. We know Tatooine has a bad reputation, but we’re just moisture farmers.” Beru muttered, her head seemed to be turned toward the sky. “We’ve...we’ve been wanting a child around the farm a while now.” 

“You don’t want me,” Luke muttered, “I’m damaged. I’m... _hurt._ ” 

“We know, but that doesn’t mean we don’t want to help. No one gets through life without a little hurt, and it’s a lot harder if you don’t have someone to help you when you’re hurt.” 

That was pretty sound advice, and it sounded true enough. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go, or any family that would take him in. Everyone thought he was dead...Luke could. He lifted his head toward the sky. He could start over. He could leave behind Luke Palpatine, and the fear, and the hate, and the dark, and the Empire. He could be Luke, a moisture farmer from Tatooine. He could have a new life, nothing like the one he’d expected...but he could _live_. Without Vader, without Tarkin and all of the court looking down on him and hissing. He could be _free_. 

“Okay.” Holding a hand toward each of them, he waited until they took them up. “I’ll stay...what do I call you?” 

“Uncle Owen.” 

“Aunt Beru.”

They were smiling, and for the first time in a long time, Luke smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke grows on Tatooine, shadowed by Vader's growing bounty.

His movements were severely limited, both by his injuries and the sun blindness. The burns itched when they began to shed dead skin, and every bit of him felt tender and raw. Blisters healed slowly, and when his sight came back, it was fuzzy and grayish. The Lars family didn’t have lots of books or datapads, so he spent his days with Beru. She taught him the basics of sewing, machine repair, and cooking when his hands healed enough. The first day he managed to walk on his feet, healed over, he started crying again. 

He didn’t have the palace, he didn’t have Nanny, or even his protector anymore, but at least he could walk now. 

Considering how suddenly Luke had dropped into their lives, Owen and Beru adapted quickly. They arranged a room, formerly Owen’s when he’d been growing up. They went to nearby farmers and acquired spare clothes and cast-off worn by the local children. He had clothes that fit now, and his boots were salvageable. Beru threw together a quick poncho, and Owen found him a hat. 

He learned how to survive Tatooine, and he was just learning how to live on Tatooine when Uncle Owen returned from Anchorhead with a grim face. The man hadn’t been into town since Luke had crashed on their land, and was supposed to be coming back with more milk. 

Luke was still practicing with knives and the experience that came with chopping vegetables. Tubers grown on Tatooine were hard to chop, hard to cook, and he’d nicked his hands often enough doing it that Aunt Beru had set out some bandages already. He looked up, though, ready to greet his new uncle when he caught sight of his perturbed expression. 

“Owen?” Aunt Beru asked. Owen shook his head faintly, and she returned her attention back to her work. 

“What’s wrong?” Luke piped up, sensing the adults would put it off. 

“After dinner,” Owen sighed, and dropped a heavy hand onto his head, ruffling his hair. He vanished again, bringing in the items from the speeder and putting away tools and supplies through a quiet dinner and then when they retired to the living room for the night. Beru and Owen both fixed clothes made socks, or sat telling a story. Luke hadn’t figured how he wanted to spend his evenings yet. He _had_ started tinkering with the little bits of machinery, trying to figure out how it worked and if he could fix it. They took their usual seat, Luke retrieving a broken down cleaning droid that was decades out of date but had a promising set of wires and a durable chassis. 

They were silent for a bit. Another thing Luke found odd. His new aunt and uncle were fine with sitting in total silence for hours and sharing a quiet and affectionate company and peace in each other. Aunt Beru didn’t frantically drink tea, gabble on, or do anything the women Luke had been around had done. She was patient and quiet, and when Luke had a problem with the machine, he could pass it up to her. She’d figure it out, point out the problem, and hand it back without saying a word. 

He figured, as annoying as it was, that they’d speak when they wanted to and not a moment before. When they did speak, it was honestly. So unlike his father and the others who said everything and everything and meant nothing. Luke was afraid to break their comfortable silence, but they hadn’t seemed to mind when Luke brought up problems and questions. 

Sometimes he had a feeling that they had been waiting for a child to break the silence. 

“Luke.” He glanced away from the cleaning droid and then at his uncle. The gruff man was leaning forward on his knees. “Here.” In his hand was a knitted nerf with knitted horn and a wonky tail. 

“What?” Luke accepted it on instinct. About the length of his forearms, fat in the middle with uneven stuffing in the head, he lifted it. “What is it?” 

“It’s a nerf.” 

“I know that...what is... _this_.”

“It’s...it’s a,” he glanced at Beru. “It’s a toy.” 

“A...toy?” Bemused, Luke turned the animal to face him. The eyes weren’t symmetrical, the nose too flat, and the toy looked just as confused as Luke. “What do I do with it?”

“You play with it,” Owen grumbled, “sleep with it, carry it around. The sort of things a child does with a toy.”

“Oh,” sensing he was being rude, Luke brought the stuffed animal close to his chest. “Thank you, Uncle Owen.” 

“Course,” the man leaned back in his seat. “I heard news today.” 

Luke kept his head down, staring at the nerf in his hands and waiting for Uncle Owen to elaborate. It wasn’t hard to guess what he was going to explain. Having been raised as a politician and as a useless prince, he knew how to blend in and make people forget that he existed. It was harder to do here when they _wanted_ to pay attention to him...but he could do it. 

“There’s a new emperor. Apparently, the old one is dead.” 

“The old one?” 

“Vader made himself Emperor or some such. The little prince...got kidnapped. No one seemed sure, but there’s a real enough bounty out for him.” 

A bounty? For him? From Vader?

Fear swamped his system, ice-cold terror crystalized on his heart, and Luke crushed his nerf to his chest with as much care as he could. Why would Vader want him? Why did he need him? If he was Emperor already, then he didn’t need to concern himself with Luke. 

Luke was dead! Everyone thought Luke was dead. Why even pretend? What was one dead ten-year-old boy to another? Surely Vader didn’t think he could offer him support in the court? 

“A bounty?” 

“Hmmm.” He heard the adults talking and closed his eyes. If they saw them, they’d see the fear. They’d _know_. 

“2 million credits. It’ll have every lunatic with a blaster out and about looking for him.”

“Poor boy,” Aunt Beru sighed. Luke was frozen in silence until Beru patted his shoulder. “Luke? What are you going to name your animal?” 

“Name it?” He forced the words out, home to the stars that he sounded like a normal child. Not at all like the ten-year-old who had just learned that his tormenter had set a 2 million credit bounty on his head. “Uh...I...uh, Ari.”

“Ari...after.” 

“Yes,” he held up the nerf to eye-level, shaking with fear and anticipation. It would only be a matter of time before Vader found him. With the entire Empire at his disposal, he could figure out where one captain and one stupid boy went. A lot of people needed 2 million credits. “You are Ari,” he told the nerf. It stared blankly back at him. “You will be my protector.” 

He desperately needed one. Anyone to hold the nightmares at bay, to defend him from the hulking shadow of Lord Vader. Not that a knitted nerf would do any good, but he liked the illusion. Luke set Ari beside the cleaning droid and picked up his spanner, and began to tinker. Owen and Beru didn’t have much else to say on the subject of the missing Imperial prince.

Why would they? The prince was far away, and the Empire wouldn’t come knocking on their door. They were just moisture farmers. Why would....Luke shrank guiltily around the parts in his hands and wondered what he’d do. 

Would they throw him out? Would they hate him? Two million was a lot of money for two poor moisture farmers on Tatooine. He wouldn’t blame them if they sold him back to the Empire. They could use the money. Maybe he should tell them and get it over with. Let them collect, and maybe Vader would make his death painless. A sudden accident or some such, to make it look good. Vader wouldn’t need to defend his throne against the threats presented by a surviving member of the previous line, and Luke could finally rest peacefully. You couldn’t be afraid if you were dead. 

“Luke.” Aunt Beru’s hand reached over to pat the top of his head. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m okay,” he lied, squeezing the tool in his hand. “I’m just...I don’t know how to fix this.” 

“You’ll figure it out,” she promised, and Luke shrugged hopelessly. 

“I hope so,” he sighed.

While Luke didn’t figure it out, he adapted to life on Tatooine. He was used to rising early, working on school, projects, or studying, so the transition wasn’t the hardest. Physical labor took the place of his training, which he kept up with in secret. Fixing vaporators, droids, and bits and bobs became his new hobby. 

Owen and Beru didn’t care if he got dirt and oil all over his hands or clothes. They didn’t care if he came to the table trailing machinery. 

He learned how to cook, how to sew, how to survive Tatooine’s harsh elements, and he had an uncanny sense when a sandstorm was about to start. Uncle Owen was impressed with how many womp rats he could hit in a single minute, scattering an entire nest. Apparently, womp rat meat was expensive, since the creatures were hard to hunt and kill. They weren’t like banthas, who were mostly domesticated, womp rats _hunted right back_. 

For the first time, Luke was around kids his age. Biggs Darklighter was 13, and while he thought Luke was too young to hang around, he still let the shy boy tag along on his adventures. Luke _knew_ Biggs thought he was a weird and soft offworlder, but he didn’t care. Bigg was the first normal kid he’d ever met. He moved and talked like he’d never spent an entire night studying for a presentation to men four times his age, like he’d never been thrown onto the training mat by a full-grown soldier like he wasn’t locked away when he was inconvenient. Biggs was _definitely_ weirded out by the fact Luke treated him like a new specimen under a microscope. 

Biggs could interrupt his parents at the table, and though they scolded him for it, no one seemed to really care. He laughed, he talked loudly, he took up space and his parents accommodated him. His younger siblings were loud, rambunctious, and they jumped around on things. 

It was so _different_ from the life he’d started with. On nights when the itch beneath his skin became too much, he sat beside Captain Gottschalk’s grave and stared at the night sky. He knew, beyond the twin suns, a monster ravaged the Empire. A monster and his soldiers who were hunting relentlessly for the lost prince. 

When Luke went into town with his aunt and uncle, he ducked away from the stormtroopers that patrolled the area, and every face that tried to see under his hat. Being in public with such a large bounty on his head, even after a year of silence, was frightening. Even carrying around Ari didn’t make him feel too much better. For weeks he wandered around the house and the farm, doing his chores with the same lifeless mechanical motions until Aunt Beru paused him before he went about the chores of the day, her concerns obvious. 

“What’s wrong, Luke.” She patted his cheek, and Luke eventually raised his eyes to meet hers. “Luke?” 

“Do you ever think...that you made a mistake...taking me in?” He asked, taking a deep breath. “That...maybe, you would have been better off without me?” 

“ _Luke_ ,” she admonished, “why would you think that? You’re our son. You’re my son, even if not by blood, then by choice.”

“What if it was a mistake?” Luke floundered, “what if it was better that I died in the crash instead of Captain Gottschalk?” 

Aunt Beru drew back, shocked. “Luke!” 

“What if it was better for everyone! For me and...for you two.” 

“No, no, no, Luke.” She hugged him, and Luke still seemed to fit perfectly against her side. 

“What if it was a mistake?” He asked, peering over her shoulder and at the funeral shroud he’d eventually made for Captain Gottschalk, which hung from the wall. “What if you _do_ regret...me.” 

“Nothing could make that happen,” Beru promised, patting his cheek. “What’s come over you?” 

“Sometimes…” he bit his lip, “I’m...afraid that everything will come back. My family.” 

“Your family didn’t deserve you,” the words died in his throat. “Your father was a monster, and if you had a mother, she was a useless rag.” 

“How...did you know?” He’d never told them anything about his family or his past life. He’d never explained anything, which made the guilt worsen when he considered just how accepting the Lars’ had been. They didn’t know that they’d adopted a monster because the monster had never explained it. 

“How did?” Genuine irritation creased her brows. “Luke, you...flinched at everything. You shied away from Owen and myself.” He remembered it seemed like childish outbursts when remembered from a stable future and a self that _knew_ Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru wouldn’t hurt him. “You hardly let us tend your injuries. You act as if failure was the end, and when you broke one of the cups?” Her voice trailed off, and Luke winced again. “We didn’t have to see or meet your parents to know what they did or what sort of parents they were.”

Luke blinked and sighed deeply. “Still...what if you... _do_ regret it? What if...what if I’m a monster What if I’m...like my father?” 

“You aren’t.” She sounded so sure of herself.

“How do you know?” 

“Owen isn’t like his,” she pointed out, “and you are your own person. You get to choose who you’ll and what sort of man you’ll become. If you don’t want to be like your father, then you don’t have to be anything like your father. 

He took a deep breath and nodded. 

“Luke…” she tugged him toward the kitchen. It was the room Luke had spent so many evenings and mornings, working and sitting. Listening to his aunt talk and asking questions and learning how to be a moisture farmer. It was a familiar, comfortable space, and he took his seat at the table, and she sat opposite. Since he didn’t have anything to play with, he settled for drumming his hands on the table. “Even if you’re...afraid of these things, I don’t want you thinking that it might have been better if you died.” 

“But it might have.” 

“No,” she shook her head, “no matter what you think or what others might say about you, the galaxy is better for having you in it. Tatooine...is better for having you on it.” 

“I just...I never want to...make you hate me or disappoint me. I don’t want you and Uncle Owen to look at me...and hate me.” He brushed at wet eyes. 

“Never,” Beru promised.

“What if I told you,” he licked his lips, “what if I told you who...who I...who I.” 

“I know who you are.” Like a stake to the chest, the air was driven out of Luke’s lungs. He stared, trembled, and stared, and trembled some more. 

“ _What?”_

“You are my son,” she stood and moved around the table to kiss his cheek. “And who you were and who you might have been doesn’t concern me.” 

“It...doesn’t?” He blinked tears from his eyes, never having gotten out of the habit of wasting water. “Really? Why not?”

“Because I know who you are now, you’re Luke Lars. You carried a grown man across the desert for help. You stayed by his bed to ensure he didn’t die alone. You have always been a strong, brave, and wonderful young man, and if I ever find the fools who tricked you into thinking otherwise, I’ll hit them with a broom.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Luke hugged her around the middle, hugging her close. He felt better, but there was still lingering guilt in his stomach. 

It was worsened by the fact that Emperor Vader doubled the bounty on the anniversary of Luke’s disappearance. 4 million for Prince Luke Palpatine, alive and unharmed. The poster was accompanied by a picture of Luke. He knew when the picture was taken, how much make-up he’d been wearing, and the fact that his clothes were supposed to make him look taller and older. Now, Luke’s hair had been bleached relentlessly by the burning twin suns for a year. He had put on weight and muscle and looked like every other moisture farmer’s. 

When he was thirteen and just starting to take an interest in flying, the bounty was up to 6 million credits. 

He tried to blend in at the village school, even though it was painfully obvious that he knew more than everyone in his class. He stopped flinching every time someone reached out to him. He allowed Uncle Owen to hug him, and Aunt Beru to kiss his cheek before sending him off to school. He didn’t flinch when he heard Uncle Owen shouting for him across the compound. 

Every year, the bounty went up by two million. Every year, his fear increased. It was so much money! When he was in town, he’d see and hear stories of bounty hunters and con-men trying to present a fake Prince Luke. Some, since that much money and the head it belonged to always brought interesting conversation, though that Vader had already killed Prince Luke. That Vader was comfortable offering that much money because he knew, he’d never have to pay it out. 

It was a nice thought, but Luke knew that the money offered was genuine. Vader had to know Luke was alive. There was no body, his Nanny had been shot, probably evidence that someone had tampered with the cameras and...remembering the frantic escape and subsequent weeks of running and hiding had been the worst of Luke’s young life. Culminating in a deadly crash that claimed the life of the first person willing to protect Luke. Not only because he was a young prince, but because he was a young child.

As much as Luke loved his aunt and uncle, guilt festered in his chest. A cuckoo fledgling, stealing the home and affection of people who didn’t know any better. He knew that he’d filled the empty space in their hearts and arms, a child that they had so desperately wished for but couldn’t have. He knew wanted to take care of him, which is what made even the worst days on Tatooine; stuck in the house for a week listening to a sandstorm ravage the area, were better than the best days on Imperial Center. 

When Luke turned 16, the bounty jumped to 50 million credits. A fact that Luke didn’t learn until after the party that Owen and Beru set up for him. Coming of age was a big deal on Tatooine. It meant that your parents had raised you successfully, ensured you’d survived until 16, and taught you to survive longer. It had been a merry event, something that didn’t happen too often on a miserable dustball like Tatooine, and Luke went to bed that night with a leaden stomach and a horrible biting fear in his mind. 

Was Vader desperate to find him? Did Vader think he was plotting against him? Did Vader want something in particular? Did he think Luke would remember something? 

Luke remembered everything with near-perfect clarity but still didn’t remember _anything_ the Sith couldn't find out eventually or would justify such an outrageous bounty. 

What had changed? 

#$#$#$#

Emperor Vader paced from one end of the room to the other. 

Truly Palpatine’s death had not been slow enough. He had not suffered the pain, the agony Vader was currently dealing with. The wrinkled old bastard should have been staked out in the center of the desert and had his corpse thrown in the pit of Sarlacc. He should have been burned alive, the way Vader had been. 

Luke, the lost Imperial prince who was now the most exclusive bounty in the galaxy. Not a whisper had been heard of the prince since the day Vader had stormed the palace and burned part of it to the ground. Only an empty room, a dead nanny, and not a _single_ trace of him to be found _anywhere_. 

Loyalists might have spirited him away, and until Vader learned the truth of the prince, he had considered the idea the boy was building a force to raise against him. The initial bounty had been offered as an incentive to have the boy brought back, and then Vader could erase all of Palpatine from the galaxy and the stars. 

But then Prince Luke was _still missing_. A year later, he upped the bounty, flabbergasted that the child was still missing! Someone had spirited him away from the palace, someone was hiding him, and even as the bounty rose, the boy remained absent. Luke had had no allies; he’d had no friends; he knew nothing about surviving the galaxy or survival in general. It would be easy for an _accident_ to occur. It would be too easy for him to fall ill from a disease he’d encountered during his exile...

 _And then this_. 

Vader had long since thought that Palpatine’s lies, manipulations, and schemes could never surprise him. This... _betrayal_ was worse than anything before. Worse than manipulating a young Anakin Skywalker for decades until he fell to madness. Worse than constructing a war that consumed billions in lives, resources, and credits. It was worse because the boy had been _right there._

Luke, his son. Ripped from his mother…raised by a monster, surrounded by monsters, and raised to be a monster. The boy, so afraid and timid, so pathetic and weak, was alive. Doubtless, he was _hiding_ from Vader, now that he was about 16-years-old. A thousand different deaths would never make up for the fact that Palpatine’s crimes. Paraded him about as the Imperial Prince, mocked and derided him to the extent that no one took him seriously, _used_ him as a prop. All while under Vader’s unknowing nose. 

And Vader would never have known if a bored investigator hadn’t done a DNA scan comparison. The fact that Prince Luke wasn’t biologically related to Palpatine wasn’t important or widely known, but the fact that anyone thought such a beautiful and intelligent child could from the old tyrant was a disgrace.

That was a ridiculous idea; no one with access to the palace had cared for the boy enough to rescue him. More were likely to hand him over to Vader in the hopes it would gain them protection. 

How had one little boy, now a young man, evade the Empire and now the frothing-at-the-mouth bounty hunter guild? 

The rebellion was looking for him too, no doubt hoping to turn him into a figurehead of anti-Imperialism. A fallen prince, a would-be emperor, and a lost boy all made compelling contributions to public relations and perceptions. 

Vader did not search for the good of the Empire; he searched for himself. To have the last piece of Padme back, safe, and sound. He would bring the boy back to his side, welcoming him and giving him the throne he so rightly deserved. 

#$#$3

Vader _had_ to think that Luke was plotting against him. He had to think that there was a pro-Palpatine force assembling, ready to set him back on the throne. Maybe there was. Maybe there were officers who would rather a boy-Emperor on the throne, the son of their Emperor, being in charge than Lord Vader. 

Luke, wrapped in his blankets, stared at the stuffed Nerf across the pillow. Arti, the ever-faithful nerf, stared back. It wasn’t fair! Vader had power and money and the Empire! He didn’t _need_ Luke dead to make his claim legitimate. He didn’t need Luke at all! 

_Why_ was he hunting him at all? What good would it do _anybody_? Aside from a single bounty hunter who would rake in more money than they knew what to do with. 

50 million credits was so _much money_. It was enough money for Owen and Beru to move to a planet with plenty of water. It was enough money to buy a ship, a fleet of ships! It was enough money to buy Tatooine! And...and... _Luke was hiding_. 

He was ashamed of that fact, too afraid to face Vader and the inevitable _accident_ he’d face. Too frightened to leave the comfortable home he had with Owen and Beru. Owen, a complete stranger he’d run to, bleeding and burnt, was a better father than Luke’s biological father. Instead of cruel and malicious, petty and bitter, Owen was firm and steady, and he was kind, and most of all, he was _patient_. As if he’d sat back and watched Luke to figure out how he ticked, moved, and thought. Beru too and Luke had thought they were judging him and watching for him to make a mistake. He was a little embarrassed that the first time he’d thrown a temper-tantrum, Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen had been celebrating. He _knew_ that wasn’t the appropriate response, and that alone knocked Luke out of his funk. 

How could he sit here and hide, when revealing himself would put them into wealth beyond their wildest dreams? 50 million credits was enough to make up for the fact that he’d been lying to them, right? Was it enough money for them to adopt a child who could actually be a child? Could that much money make up for Luke? 

Or..or Vader would kill them off without paying them. That was a lot of money to spend on a useless prince, why spend it if you could kill the people you owed it to? 

Luke bit his lip and pulled Ari closer, hoping that he could figure out what to do...or a least fall asleep. 

The next few weeks were quiet until the news of Vader’s latest stunt reached Tatooine. Hushed whispers, awed voices, and fearful distrust echoed around the announcement that Vader was ripping through the slave gangs, gangs, and smugglers. Upending the slave markets on Ryloth, on Nar Shadda, and every contraband ship he could locate. 

It was abundantly clear to Luke _why_ the Emperor had gone through the trouble to clear out something that no one had done anything about in generations. 

He was searching for Luke. 

Random kidnappings of blond teenagers were so prevalent that Uncle Owen had Luke cover his face and hair when they went into town. It wasn’t a stretch to assume that the missing prince, ten at the time, had fallen foul of unscrupulous characters. Slavers, kidnappers, traders, and the sort of cruel sentients that turned Luke’s stomach were the logical culprits of the long-missing prince. 

Vader was willing to expend the time, money, and soldiers to start clearing out slavery just to find one boy. 

Vader, a Sith Lord who murdered Luke’s father, was willing to make enemies of the Empire’s biggest supporters just to find and destroy the last of Palpatine’s line. Any threat to his legitimacy had to be neutralized. 

Still, cutting down Zygerria, Black Sun, and Crimson Dawn _just_ to find an inconsequential threat? 

Late at night, when the darkest and grimmest thoughts invaded, Luke trembled and hated himself. It was only a matter of time before Vader found him, and there was no telling what would happen to Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. They might be executed too, shot, or tortured for hiding him from the Empire. 

But as afraid as he was, Luke couldn’t spend his days hiding under his blankets the same way he had when he was ten and eleven. When horrible fits of grief yanked him down into the grim thoughts that ignited the hide-until-the-monster-overlooks-me instinct. He had to keep living, 

He farmed, worked on ships, went flying at breakneck speeds down Beggars canyon, and spent nights staring at the ceiling. Anticipation and the knowledge that his time on Tatooine was slipping through his fingers.

$#$3

Boba Fett was on an exclusive contract with the Empire. Intelligence gathering and as a double agent in Jabba’s court. The old slug knew it was only a matter of time before Emperor Vader would turn his lightsaber on him, and was trying to use Boba Fett as protection. Too bad Vader had gotten to Boba first, and paid more. So while Jabba was content thinking Fett worked for him, and Vader used Fett as a double agent, he also kept his eyes out for Prince Luke. Like every bounty hunter worth his salt, Prince Luke was _the_ prize. The ultimate score, the ultimate bounty, and worth so much money that Fett was willing to stand in an alcove in Anchorhead. Technically he was on assignment from Jabba to gather information on the Imperial garrison's movements, but it was a waste of time. Since he couldn't make a report without having expanded visible effort, Boba Fett stood and hid and watched. 

Even for a shitty planet like Tatooine, it was busy. Anchorhead was mostly occupied by farmers and tradesmen, and a lot of bored teenagers. This teenager, Fett observed, wasn’t bored. He was walking beside an older woman and carrying her bags. He moved in ways that evidenced training. Fighting, keeping an eye out for threats, and assassinations. It wasn’t too obvious, and either he’d forgotten his training, or it had been a long time since he’d had a session, so Fett thought he might have been reading the kid wrong. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and the regular clothes of a moisture farmer's son. He looked normal, simple, a moisture farmer with his mother at the market. If he was blond, then there was a good reason to keep his head covered and down. 

Fett knew more than a few bounty hunters who went the cheap route by bringing in imposters or kidnapped kids. It never ended well. He was a professional, and he wasn’t going to even _try_ to bring in the wrong kid. 

Emperor Vader had given Fett a file to compare blood samples too, clearly anticipating Fett’s focus and drive. He might have had to go purchase a medical droid and keep it aboard Slave 1, but it would be a worthwhile investment if he found the right kid. 

The boy and his mother drifted down the street, and bored, Fett decided to follow. He was intrigued when the boy figured out they were being followed. His training was obvious as he tried to clock every corner and shadow for their stalker. 

Fett drifted closer, keeping low and hidden, hoping to catch a snippet of their conversation. 

“...I don’t know if even you can make those things edible.” The boy was saying, a distinct Tatooine accent with a hint of Core. The sort of Core accent you only heard in the Imperial senate. “You can try, though, Aunt Beru.” 

“Maybe,” the woman was all Tatooine. She’d lived her whole life here; she’d probably be buried here. The boy, on the other hand, was an anomaly. An interesting collection of contradictions. “Did you set the last batch out to soften?” 

“Yes, but it still turned out poorly. Maybe if we left them out longer?” 

“Maybe.”

Fett followed them from the food stalls to the junk shops, where the teenager haggled with astonishing expertise. Then to the bar where they’d parked their landspeeder. All the while, the teenager's shoulders hunched further and further. As if physically feeling the weight of Fett’s stare. He turned, an amateur move, having clearly pinned Boba down. The bounty hunter felt his lips curl into a smile as the hat lifted, and he caught sight of the face beneath it. Older, worn, and tanned, the face of Prince Luke, was unmistakable to a man who had actively been hunting him for 9 years. The holos of the boy were everywhere; the postered were everywhere; there were bounty hunters who had gone mad looking for him. 

There were poorly made movies about random amnesiac blonds discovering that they were the long-lost prince. Books about a prince hiding from prosecution, trying to build up a fleet to take back his home. Stories about a prisoner, locked in the darkness while the monster offered millions for his capture. Legends of a young ghost wandering the Imperial Palace, calling for his father. Stories about a prince who had become a simple farmer to hide away from the pressures of palace life. 

Someone had been right. 

Boba Fett had just stumbled onto the biggest payday of his career. 

#$#$34

Luke couldn’t sleep; he was lying on his bed, fully clothed and staring at the ceiling and _waiting_. He knew something was going to happen. It had to happen. 

Sighing, he sat up and made his way to the garage, grabbing the well-worn stuffed animal on his way out. The habit of carrying it from room to room had never faded, even after nine years on Tatooine. There were a few projects he wanted to work on, and the sleepless nights were the most productive. Just before he turned the lights on, he paused. Scanning the room revealed nothing, but he _knew_ that someone was there. 

An intruder...a bounty hunter? A thief? A slaver? 

Luke waited by the door, basked in the lights from the hallway. Something had to break; someone had to move first. 

A shuffle of fabric and a mechanical whine came from the depths of the room. Boba Fett emerged from the dark corner, blaster-rifle held ready and trained on Luke. 

“I can bring you in warm,” the bounty hunter growled, “or I can bring you in cold.” 

“I thought he wanted me alive?” Luke asked mildly, unfurling the core accent he’d suppressed in his first years of living on Tatooine. It was hard to blend in when you sounded the rich folk in movies that the local kids liked to imitate and mock. 

Boba Fett was silent, and Luke raised his hands. “What did you do to my parents?” 

“Nothing,” Fett’s short growl told Luke all he needed to know. He’d accidentally stumbled on the bounty hunter before he was finished setting up the trap, or before he’d even finished recon. 

“What will you do to them?” He managed to suck in the shaky breath, steeling himself for the horrific plunge, readying himself for the gallows. 

“Nothing, if you come quietly.” Fett was a Mandalorian, supposedly a man of honor who kept his word. Luke had no money, no firepower, and not a snowballs chance in the Dune Sea to escape. He could only leverage what he had. 

“Swear it,” Luke straightened, sliding too easily back into the prince-like posture and patterns he’d tried to avoid in the last nine years. “On your armor. That you will do them no harm either by your hand or revealing them to those, who would harm them.” 

Swearing on his armor was a bit of a trick, and a lot to ask the man holding him at rifle point. But Vader wanted Luke alive and unharmed. As good as Fett was, Luke was desperate. 

“Ni oritsir bat ner beskar'gam.” 

Luke nodded, his chest tightening as Fett approached with a pair of cuffs. As soon as they clicked around his wrists, his fate was sealed, and the heavy weight of his destiny had finally returned. He considered it a minor miracle that his knees hadn’t buckled. Luke only stared at the metal around his wrists, and let the bounty hunter escort him silently through the compound. As they prepared to pass through the ante-chamber, Fett dragged the smallest cloak down from the hook and threw it over Luke’s arms.

“Space is cold,” was all the answer he was given. 

“Oh,” Luke murmured, and they moved into the courtyard, up the steps, and across the sands to the ship waiting nearby. As they passed by Captain Gottschalk's grave, he pulled to a halt. The headstone was small, carved with Luke’s shaking hands when he was 12. It didn’t do the man justice, and now Luke was failing his protector as much as he had when they’d crashed. Handing himself over to Vader without a single fight, just to ensure his aunt and uncle were left alone. They might grieve and wonder at his absence, but he’d rather be dead than bring Vader and the Empire down on their heads for having hidden the missing prince. Luke couldn't unstick his throat long enough to even apologize for failing him, for being a coward, for being weak, and afraid. With a sigh, he moved over the grave and settled the nerf against the headstone. His protectors could rest together and ruminate over Luke’s failure. He’d betrayed everything they’d done for him, carrying him away from a war-zone and guiding him through countless nightmares. He bowed his head once and stepped back. 

“Come on,” Fett was gentler than his reputation suggested. That, or he didn’t want to seriously damage the biggest meal ticket of his life. The pressure on Luke’s elbow wasn’t even enough to move it, but Luke walked forward and away from the homestead. 

#$#$3

Fett was dizzy with suppressed glee, even if he didn’t show it. The helmet was great for keeping his expression under wraps, and he could stare at the teenager with unabashed curiosity. He’d expected the prince to be an amnesiac, why else would he be hiding on a desert rock for near a decade? He’d expected the prince to be loud, arrogant, and angry, but Prince Luke was quiet, subdued, and moved like a man walking to his death. Clearly, he knew enough to request Fett to swear on his armor, but he hadn’t realized that space might be cold after years of hiding on Tatooine? 

He submitted to the blood test, looking graver than ever when the droid beeped an affirmative. With every ounce of professional gravitas that he could summon, Boba guided the prince into one of holding cells, even if he didn’t think he needed one, he didn’t want the kid running around his ship for the next few days. 

Prince Luke was silent and resigned. Eyes downcast as Fett closed the cell door, sealing him in. It made the bounty hunter wonder what had happened in the palace to make him refuse to come forward, even if he knew it would earn his guardians more money than they’d ever thought about. 

“How much,” Luke spoke up, and Boba paused at the bottom of the ladder. “How much am I worth now?” 

“300 million credits.” The boy slumped a bit, and Fett wished he’d cleaned up the cells a little. They were still pretty gross from his last catch. It wasn’t every day you transported someone who could conceivably inherit an entire empire. Vader used Fett more often than not and paid _extremely well_. It would be prudent to ensure high-paying Imperial contracts continued. Not that the boy acted like Vader was going to keep him alive or well. Fett was genuinely curious to see what would happen. 

“Oh.” The thin shoulders sagged faintly. “ I...see.”

Fett paused, wondering if he should say something to comfort him...but decided against it. Luke Palpatine was a job, just like any other. He moved up the ladder and into the cockpit. Within minutes they were lifting off of Tatooine. Before he pulled the lever to enter hyperspace, Boba watched Prince Luke through the security holo. The blond's hood was pulled up, and Fett could guess through the posture that he was hiding his face in his hands. 

So he _had_ been hiding. _Interesting._

Fett pulled the lever. The stars became star lines, and Luke Palpatine was coming home. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke is returned to the Imperial Palace.

“Luke?” The suns hadn’t risen yet, and there were chores to be done before they did. Owen didn’t often have to wake his son up; Luke was usually awake when he heard the older man walking down the hallway. That had lessened in recent years, but it was still odd to knock on the door and not even hear a tired grumble. “Luke?” He leaned close, hearing the droid rolling around and beeping, but no Luke. “I’m coming in, son.” Still, there was no reply.

It was dark inside the room; the bed was rumpled but made. DeeDee, the small cleaning droid, beeped adoringly at Owen and rolled past him to clean the rest of the house. Luke’s little plants were still in place, and Owen's eyes tracked around the room. Ari was missing.

“Luke?” Beru was in the kitchen, getting started on breakfast. “Didn’t Luke make breakfast?”

“No, he must be out on the vaporators already. When you do out, will you take him a snack? You know how he gets with food.”

“Kid eats less than a baby Sarlacc.” Owen sighed, “alright. I’ll go check the first two before breakfast. I mentioned that I wanted to take a look at the southern ridge, maybe he wanted to get that off the list before anything else. It is hotter out there midday.”

“Alright,” Beru yawned, sleepily crushing a handful of herbs. “Good luck.”

“Right,” Owen scrubbed at his eyes, and moved into the compound and up the stairs and grinned at the sight of the faintly pinking sky. Tatooine didn’t have a lot of positives, but at least it had spectacular sunrises. Across the sand to the first vaporator, which took him past the family graves. He gave a respectful nod to the collection of headstones and paused. “What the?”

Leaning against Captain Gottschalk’s headstone, was the Ari the Nerf. Luke’s faithful companion and protector through a decade of nightmares and tears. In the faint light, the little animal looked dropped and miserable. “What are you doing here?” Luke always took great care of his possessions. He didn’t need to be told that things needed to last or be rugged, that was understood. Luke had re-knit parts of Ari over the years, as well as added new stuffing; he would never leave it outside.

Then he looked down, finally realizing that he wasn’t making the first tracks of the day. There were prints already pressed into the sand. One small pair, and a larger pair made by boots. Owen’s steps had muddled a few of them, but it was clear that someone else had been on the homestead.

“Shit!” They led away from Captain Gottschalk’s grave and toward an empty section of the sand where the weight of a ship had left significant indents, and part of the area had been blasted to glass. “BERU!” Turning on his heels and clutching Ari to his chest, Owen sprinted back toward the homestead. “BERU! HE’S GONE!”

“What?” She came skidding into the compound. “What is it?”

“LUKE! HE’S GONE! HE’S GONE, BERU!”

“What?”

He held Ari up, explaining where he’d found it and explained the blast marks and the tracks. With every word, Beru’s eyes got wider and wider, until she clapped a hand over her mouth.

“No!

“I don’t know where he is! But it looks like he went,” Owen worked the word around in his mouth before he had the courage to say it. “Willingly. No drag marks, the droid was fine, and no one would have known to put Ari at the gravestone.”

“Why would he have gone willingly? He never wanted to go back! He couldn’t go back! Owen, why...why would he go?”

“Maybe he thought we were in danger?” Owen tugged on his beard, scanning the dark skies overhead for a ship that was already long gone. “Maybe they threatened him, just because it looked fine doesn’t mean it was.” They exchanged a significant glance.

“How do we get him back?”

Owen shrugged helplessly, “I have no idea.”

#$#$#$#

Luke was cold. Space was cold, and Fett’s ship wasn’t designed for comfort. The hard bench still had flecks of blood and grime on it. The floor was a mix between crusty and sticky. It wasn’t as bad as it could be, but he was almost wishing Fett had taken the time to clean out the cell.

He wanted to sleep, to escape the world he was in, and let the time between now and his execution pass as painlessly as possible. Sleep was impossible at this point. His mind was too busy imagining what would happen as soon as Vader caught wind that Luke was on his way back.

What would the galaxy do? Such a large bounty meant that this obsession had been well-fueled for years.

“Here.” Luke glanced from his hands at Fett. The bounty hunter was standing just outside the door, holding a bottle of water. His eyebrows rose as he stared at such a large amount of water being casually waved around.

“What?” He fumbled as the bottle sailed between the bars, and he tried to catch it.

“Water.”

“How long...until.”

“A few days.” Fett paused outside the cell. “I have plenty of water. Don’t think that’s your only bottle for the trip.”

Luke tilted his head to the side because he had been thinking that. Why Fett would bother with kindness was baffling at this point. “Oh.” He waited for Fett to leave, but the Mandalorian was still staring. “Yes?”

“You don’t look like him.”

“What?”

“Palpatine,” Luke flinched as Fett continued. “You don’t look anything like him.”

“I...don’t?” No one had ever told him that. Of course, his father was ancient by the time he died, so Luke only ever noticed that the man was one big wrinkle with yellow eyes. “He was old.”

“No,” Fett’s helmet shifted from one side to the other. “I looked up Palpatine as a young man, and you don’t look anything like him.”

“I...I um...I don’t know.” Luke hadn’t thought about it in ages. The scant few cold meetings he actually met with his father, and the shadows left by the palace, had mostly burned away by the twin suns and the warm smile Uncle Owen graced him with when he did something particularly well. They used to joke that Luke was a small, blond version of Grandmother Shmi. The only holo they had of her, holding her jubilant son on her shoulder after winning the Boonta Eve classic, showed the Luke did look more like a random ex-slave and moisture farmer than the Emperor.

“If you have the wrong person,” Luke gulped, “can you put me back on Tatooine? I have chores to do and.”

“I have the right person,” Fett threw him a ration pack. “I just don’t think that you’re Luke Palpatine.”

“What? No, I probably look more like my mother.”

“Who was your mother?”

“I…” Luke’s voice died in his throat. Aunt Beru’s face floated to the front of his mind. What she’d told him years ago echoing in his ear. “I don’t have a mother.”

“Hmmm,” with an enigmatic nod, the Mandalorian was gone again, and Luke was left alone with his swirling thoughts and an entirely new idea to stress over.

Did he really not look like his father? Nothing like the old man who had ruled his life with an iron fist? Luke didn’t even know what Palpatine looked like before he’d been disfigured in his fight with the Jedi. He’d always looked old, bitter, and evil. His ugliness was often compounded by the fact that he was so cruel to everyone. Luke had never understood why a woman, even a paid one, would sleep with someone as ugly as his father.

Luke had some admirers. Biggs had joked that Luke’s offworlder status meant that he’d need to marry into a couple so as to be the one to stay home and preserve his looks. Looking back, Luke realized he might have been throwing a low ball invite. Bigg had been dating Camie at the time.

Who...did he look like? Was it possible that he wasn’t even Palpatine’s son...but had been adopted by him as much as he’d been adopted by Beru and Owen? Strangers had commented that Luke had looked like Owen and Beru. His aunt and uncle hadn’t told anyone who he’d come to Tatooine. The common expectation was that he’d been born to Owen’s step-brother and had come to Tatooine after he’d died.

Luke did look an awful lot like Shmi Skywalker, and at ten, he’d resembled the young Anakin on her shoulders, so exactly that most people had taken that as definitive proof. As much as Owen tried to tell him that Anakin Skywalker hadn’t been anyone special, Luke knew his history.

But he couldn’t fault them for not wanting to be related to a Jedi, even distantly. It was part of the reason he’d always hid his nominal force abilities around them.

#$#$#$

The kid sure acted like he wasn’t going to last very long under Vader’s control. He ate the ration pack like it was his last meal. Which was ridiculous. Ration packs would be a shitty last meal for someone who had grown up in a fucking palace. Still, he didn’t complain. Not about the food, the temperature, or the state of the cell. He sat quietly and patiently and didn’t seem to waste tears on crying.

Fett didn’t want to make any bets on the kid's survival, but it would be ridiculous to offer such a large bounty on someone you were going to execute in a few weeks. He had to want the kid for something, and the longer Fett stared at him, the more he realized that his half-cocked suspicion really was true.

Prince Luke didn't look anything like the crusty old man who’d raised him. His hair was blond without a hint of red. His eyes were blue, not brown. His nose was short and delicate, his chin was strong, and his jaw well-defined even under the youthful baby fat. Young Sheev Palpatine had been...rounder. No sign of ruggedness, no strong features save his red hair.

But he didn’t have proof, and without proof, he couldn’t do anything. Did he even have the right person? Surely if he wasn’t Palpatine’s blood relation, then the old man wouldn't have bothered raising him. But if he wasn’t, then Vader might kill him and the kid, and Fett would be remembered as just another idiot.

He had to double-check.

#$#$#

“Why are you doing this?” Luke asked, holding his arm out to the bounty hunter as he swabbed for another skin sample. “I’m the Luke that everyone wants. I grew up in the palace. I was the prince.”

“How did you escape?” Fett handed the swab over the medical droid.

“How did I...escape?”

“Yes.”

“I…,” Luke swallowed. “Climbed down a turbolift shaft to the...bottom floor of the palace. Um...and there was a section of the floor cut away. There’s a mountain beneath the palace...with the remains of an ancient trail. I walked along that.”

“Hmph.”

“I really am him, Boba Fett.”

“We’ll see.”

#$#$#$3

Corporal Meecer wasn’t awake enough when the transmission came through on the channel used by the Emperor’s favorite contractors and bounty hunters. There were only about a dozen of them, and each one more intimidating than the last. So when the call came through, and it was Boba Fett he nearly dropped his caf on his lap.

“Uh,” it was late here, too late for a bounty hunter to be calling. They liked to contact the captains and generals who sometimes manned the comm unit. “Boba Fett.”

“Prince Luke’s escape route,” Fett said without preamble. “You need to check a turbolift near where his room might have been. A panel on the bottom floor of the palace that opens onto a peak on the surface.”

“What?” Corporal Meece felt his heart jackrabbit in his chest, and he knew this was unprecedented. None of Vader’s favorites had ever brought a fake Prince Luke. If Fett had genuine information, then…., “Where did you get this?”

“Check beneath the palace,” Fett said.

“I’ll pass it along,” Meece agreed, and Fett cut the transmission. He only sat in shock for a minute, because a minute was all he could spare. Jumping up, he hit the button he was only supposed to hit if something really happened. It took a minute to connect, and Meece shrank back in his seat as Emperor Vader appeared.

“What is it?” He demanded.

“Your majesty...there is a lead on the prince’s exit route.”

“A lead?”

Quickly, he relayed the message. His terror rising with each hissed breath.

“Remain alert, Corporal Meece,” the Emperor ordered, and Meece saluted. “Did Fett give any indication he had acquired the prince?”

“None, he simply relayed the message and cut the connection.”

The Emperor nodded, and his image vanished. Meece leaned back in his chair, gasping for breath. He was scarier up-close!

#$#$3

Investigators, detectives, agents, and soldiers milled around the part of the palace that had been part of the residential wing of the palace. The suite that had been Prince Luke’s rooms were now empty storage rooms. 

The room and the surrounding area had been thoroughly dissected over the years for any clues for Prince Luke’s whereabouts.

But no one had thought about climbing down a turbolift. Only an insane person climbed down a lift shaft; it was too dangerous! At least when it wasn’t under maintenance.

“Well?” The collective of people parted respectfully before Vader as an agent inspected the shaft ladder.

“This thing has seen maintenance since then, sire.” The agent replied, rubbing a gloved hand over the sooty ladder rungs. “If we shut down this shaft, I think I can follow the proposed route.”

“Do so,” Emperor Vader ordered, and turned to his aide to find the man already relaying the orders. When he turned back to the turbolift shaft, the officer was already gone. Mask in place, gloved, harnessed, and with a headlamp slipped over his hardhat. Light bounced around the grim shaft, eventually swallowed up by the darkness.

Two others followed him down, descending into the darkness with visible trepidation.

Agent Audie, a rock-climbing enthusiast who used his job to fund his hobby, was having the time of his life. Sure he was climbing down an ancient turbolift shaft in the middle of the Imperial Palace, but this was a climb only a few had made before! Who else in his climbing group could say that they’d been ordered to do this? No one else would be able to say that they’d climbed down to Imperial Center’s core?

And a mountain? A mountain that hadn’t seen daylight in eons? It was going to be epic! If he found clues about the prince, then that was so much better. His earpiece cracked.

“Agent Audie, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” he glanced up at the two men climbing down after him. “We’re about….three-fourths of the way down. I can’t see the bottom yet.”

“We’re going to meet you down there, have you seen anything?”

“Not yet.” What a great climb. This was amazing.

When he hit bottom and shoved the turbolift door open, there were already troopers scanning the floors and trying to find which panel might come up. He was just adjusting his climbing harness when there was a cry of excitement as part of the floor was lifted up.

“Do you think a child could have done that climb?” His earpiece crackled a bit.

“A very determined ten-year-old could, or he could have been carried. It’s not a hard climb, but it really depends on the kid.”

He moved closer to the hole in the floor and angled his helmet into the darkness. There was rock! There was a mountain just a few feet from the palace floor. “Wow.”

“What do you see?”

“Rock, not a lot of details yet. If I find anything, it’ll be here.”

“Alright,” the line went silent, and Agent Audie once again descended into darkness. Part of his mind was occupied with cataloging the sheer blackness around him, illuminated only by his headlamp and the square of light from overhead.

If there had been tracks, they had been blasted away by nine years of wind, but there might be something else. Audie crouched to the ground, trailing his fingers over rock and dust. He tried to imagine a ten-year-old making the same path he had. Climbing down a turbolift shaft and then onto this mountain? A young prince, probably frightened by the fighting or not even knowing what was happening. Had he made this journey? Was the bounty hunter right?

His own breathing was loud in his ears as he surveyed the rocks and scanned any the might have evidence. “I…I hold on.” Agent Audie shifted his head and gulped. It was a set of handprints, the right side was intact, but the left side was smeared. As if the person had set his hand on the rock and slipped. There was a section of each print that was significantly darker than any of the rest. No doubt, the dried remains of blood. “I found a set of handprints.” The rock had fallen to the side, protecting the small prints from being blasted away by the heavy winds

“Handprints?” He knew they had to be freaking out overhead, so he shot them a thumbs up.

“Yes, sir. Handprints…small handprints.” As an experiment, he held his own hand over one, marveling at how he easily dwarfed it. “These have to be Prince Luke’s.” With utmost reverent, he lifted the rock toward the hands, reaching down. “I think that bounty hunter was right” he turned back to the darkness and the mountain ridges and crags rising around him. “But, I can’t imagine he knew where to go.”

“Someone could have helped him.”

“I hope so,” Agent Audie stared around, “otherwise.”

“Is it possible that…there’s a body?”

“Possible,” Audie gulped, he had stumbled over bodies on some of the higher, and more dangerous ridges. It was never pleasant, and the last thing he wanted to do was find Prince Luke down here. Alone, unburied, forgotten, and lost. “Sure as hell hope not. We’re going to need more people to.”

“Hold on, Agent Audie.” He paused. “There’s a map of this ridge!”

“A map?”

“Well, it’s not exactly a map, but there’s a thesis that the others just dug up. It’s written about the surface by a former structural engineer.”

“So someone knew about this place…someone who’d be willing to take the prince?”

“Possibly, the author was someone called Ari Gottschalk. A former captain.”

“Former?” Agent Audie moved down the ridge a bit, care of his steps, trying to see if the rocks hid a boot print or a scrap of clothing.

“Captain Gottschalk was reported missing just a few weeks after…erm.”

“Everything?” Audie supplied.

“He hasn’t been seen since. His family doesn’t know what happened to him. He was…hmmmm. He was assigned to the architecture team that was going to be designing new structures. The thesis is pretty dense, and it distinctly mentions this place.”

“Neat,” Audie gulped as he found another handprint, half-washed away and darkened by aged blood. “Shit, he really did come this way. We’re going to need an entire team to come survey this area.”

“Acknowledged, Agent Audie.” 

He moved down further into the darkness, all the while praying that he _didn’t_ find a body.

#$#$#

Luke _was_ asleep the third time Boba Fett came into the cell to take a blood sample. He jolted awake with a yell as the needle pricked his arm.

“Calm down,” Fett ordered, and Luke glared up at him.

“Why do you keep doing that? I am Prince Luke! You’ll get your fortune and probably waste it! Now, let go!” He yanked his arm free. Fett’s helmet angled his direction and then away. He was gone a moment later, and Luke rubbed his hand.

If the bounty hunter was going to deliver him to Vader, the least he could do would be to leave him alone.

#$#$#4

The Imperial palace was already in an uproar over finally locating Prince Luke’s escape route. For the last nine years, everyone had been baffled as to how a _child_ could simply vanish into thin air. He hadn’t been on cameras; he hadn’t been seen, he’d disappeared in a single violent night.

No bodies had been found, but they had located a few boot prints and a piece of clothing that had probably been torn from Luke’s clothes. Emperor Vader was beside himself, first with worry that Luke might have been dead for years, lost in the grim twilight of Imperial Center’s long-abandoned surface. Then worried that Fett might have found the boy but hadn’t captured him.

As soon as another call came through from Fett, it was re-routed directly to the Emperor. Fett seemed perfectly at ease when Vader’s mask appeared instead of the normal control officer.

“Was I right?” Fett asked.

“Evidence was uncovered that Prince Luke had taken your suggested route. Where did you get this information?”

“I have him,” Fett replied. “I’m about a day out.”

“You _have him_?”

Instead of replying, Boba sent along a data file containing the comparison of the various samples he’d taken. Vader seized upon them, reading through them until he was satisfied.

“He admits to being Prince Luke as well.”

“Bring him directly to me, Fett,” Vader ordered. And the bounty hunter nodded. The call was disconnected, no doubt for the last jump into hyperspace As soon as the hunter was gone, Vader moved. Barking orders and direction for the quarters, long prepared for Prince Luke, were to be spruced up and aired out.

#$#$3

Luke felt the moment they reversed into real space. The ship rumbled faintly, and the noise of the planet practically assaulted his ears. He’d forgotten just how _loud_ and _busy_ this planet was. Teeming with a billion life forms and intentions. It was nothing like Tatooine and the relative quiet.

He froze, clutching the seat as he remembered the frantic escape and run from the planet. When the captain had carried him through though a dozen spaceports, through liners, and then across cities, he was back, and he’d undone that everything Gottschalk had done for him. He’d failed his protector, he’d failed his aunt and uncle, and he’d failed himself.

A man had _died_ to save him, and Luke was spitting on his sacrifice. Passing himself off in an attempt to save his aunt and uncle was the least he could do for the people who had been more of his parents than his actual father.

If Palpatine was even his father, Luke still hadn’t come up with an answer _for that_. What was he supposed to think? He’d spent his entire life hating and loving his father in equal turns! The man had hated him, belittled him, watched, and let others bully and mock him. He’d raised Luke, but he’d also ignored him. The possibility that Palpatine _wasn’t_ his father filled him with a sense of hope that he hadn’t known could exist.

If he wasn’t related to Palpatine, then he couldn’t be a prince, and he couldn’t be worth anything! If he wasn’t Palpatine’s son, then he couldn’t be from the monster who had been so wretched to the whole galaxy. If he got the chance to talk to Vader about this, then he could ask for DNA confirmation. Maybe the Sith Lord would give him up? Maybe he could go back to Tatooine? Maybe he could escape the core, and retire on a moisture farm….get married….raise children.

He swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat as the dream died as soon as the ship shuddered again. They were entering the atmosphere, and Luke took several heavy breathes to avoid bursting into tears. He _was_ afraid. Nine years of quiet fear had distilled into the terror, now shaking each breath and running ice up and down his spine. This was every night he’d spent staring at the ceiling, wondering when his happiness would come to an end. This was every shopping trip when he covered his face and wore hats to avoid detection. This was every single minute that he’d tried to get his hands to stop shaking after seeing stormtroopers in the distance.

“Kid,” he glanced up, Fett was back. The ship had docked, and Luke could hear voiced outside. “You need to breathe.”

“You swore,” he croaked, knowing his voice was close to cracking. How fitting, a prince returned, and he couldn’t even pretend he’d been a good moisture farmer. He spent too much water crying. “You swore on your armor, Boba Fett. If you tell them _anything_ , I’ll have the galaxy know that you’re an honorless.”

“Hey!” He slammed his fist into the metal bars. “I gave you my word. I am a Mandalorian. I do not break it.”

Luke tried to breathe properly; he tried to breathe in and out and keep himself steady as the bounty hunter opened the door. It was a miracle that he didn’t collapse to his knees, unleashing the tears burning behind his eyes. 

He managed to walk upright, with the modicum of pride and dignity he could summon. Through the ship and he paused as the boarding ramp began to descend.

It was bright, that was the first thing he noticed. A planet of artificial light, and one weak sun, it still had nothing on Tatooine. Then, came the noise. Hundreds of ships and people, moving around, working, and operating. As the ramp descended even further, Luke caught sight of white stormtrooper helmets and the gray caps worn by officers. Then faced, nervous and excited, and dozens of them.

Last, came Vader, standing at the bottom of the boarding ramp. He looked _different_. He wasn’t wearing his infamous armor anymore. The armor he wore was sleeker, with visibly stronger anymore. Had a red sash across his chest covering where his respirator box used to be, as it came to his right shoulder, it flared out into an impressive cape. He still hissed and rasped, but it was lessened greatly. Nothing like the monster that used to haunt his nightmares.

He was _waiting_.

The sight of him nearly made Luke lose his balance and collapse to the side. But he didn’t fall. He remained upright and calmly walked down the ramp to his doom with as much grace and poise as he could manage.

When they reached the bottom of the ramp, Vader’s heavy stare didn’t abate. As soon as Luke came to a halt, he moved. Clasping his hand behind his back, the Emperor looked him up and down before beginning a slow circuit around the trembling prince. His examination was thorough, taking in every inch of the blond. His rasping breath harsher than it had ever been in the total silence of the landing pad. Officers and troopers dared not break the tension, or fear that _they_ would be shattered alongside it. 

Luke stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the man circling him as if he were a slave in the market. He might have delivered himself to the object of nine-years’ worth of nightmares, but he wasn’t planning on becoming the simpering, frightened child he’d been. Even if he was scared, even if he did feel as if he was ten again and Gottschalk hadn’t rescued him. He might be nineteen now, but Luke had never felt more like a child than when Vader finished his circuit and leaned forward to examine his face.

It wasn’t enough to _look_ at him; the Sith grasped his chin and turned his head from side to side. Heedless of the fact that Luke’s heart skipped a few beats and his breath hitched. Vader’s gloves were soft, worn leather. Beneath them lurked prosthetics that could easily crush his face, except that the Emperor’s grip was light, and the pressure for Luke to tilt his head for inspection was a mere suggestion.

He worked the edge of his sleeves between nerveless fingers until the Emperor stepped back. The landing pad was silent, all eyes on Vader’s turned to Luke as the Emperor nodded.

Emperor Vader set his hands on Luke’s shoulders, finally taking notice of the handcuffs. “Those are no longer necessary.” With a gesture, the cuffs opened and clattered to the ground. “Welcome home, little prince.”

Luke trembled, staring at the red sash and armor in front of him. The weight of Vader’s hand, eyes, and expectations weighed as much as Gottschalk the day he’d dragged him across the desert. The weight of his failure and betrayal to his protector and his family. The weight of his own cowardice.

“Well done, Fett,” Vader spoke, heedless of Luke’s whirling guilt and fear.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Fett replied.

“Pay him.” Vader ordered a nearby officer, his hands shifting on Luke’s shoulder so he could direct the young man. “Come, little prince, we have much to discuss.” As the Emperor directed Luke across the landing pad and dozens of troopers fell in around them, Luke glanced frantically back at the bounty hunter. 

He met Fett’s eyes for a split second, even with the helmet in place, Luke knew he’d gotten his message across.

_Keep your oath._

Fett’s helmet dipped into the faintest of nods, and only then did Luke turn to face whatever future Vader had in store for him.

#$#$#$

_He was alive!_ He was here! He looked healthy! With bright eyes, visible strength in body _and_ character, and a steady gait! In the nine-years his son had been missing, Vader had envisioned all sorts of wretched fates befalling his son.

He feared his son had been enslaved, beaten, or starved to death. He feared his son had died beneath the palace, a lonely body on a forgotten mountain. He feared Luke had been spaced by accident, fallen in with murderous pirates, been stabbed in a mugging. He feared the Luke had died alone, quietly, and that he would be gone forever without anyone being the wiser.

But Luke was alive…and healthy. Someone had taken care of him; someone had seen a lonely ten-year-old and taken him in and even treated him well.

Vader squeezed the thin shoulders beneath his hands. Luke hardly glanced back at him; he was resigned…afraid. The joy of seeing his son alive was banked when he caught Luke’s expression in the reflection of the turbo lift door.

He had seen that expression many men’s faces, right before he executed them. 

Still, his son was _back_. Alive and healthy and wonderful, just at his mother’s height, with her delicate nose and the same worried expression she used to wear between senate meetings. He must have been hiding if it meant that Boba Fett had to cuff him to bring him home. He had to be afraid of Vader, and of what Vader planned for him. Did he think Vader was going to execute him, as he had originally planned?

No matter, Vader decided as the turbolift came to a halt, and he escorted the prince down the hall. Luke would know the truth soon enough.

His son’s fear was alive, sparking off his skin. Practically a beast of its own, gnawing at the prince until Vader could hear his breath stutter as they reached a wide, ornate door. It slid open, revealing a suite that Vader had hired _the best_ interior decorator on Imperial Center to design two years ago. It was spacious, gorgeous, with every comfort anyone could ever desire. It was alive with plants, flowers, and greenery. The windows overlooked what Vader considered to be the best view on the planet, the city-scape of the Government grid, where the lights and traffic patterns took on a life of their own.

“What?” The first word his son had spoken was slanted with shock, surprise, and an outer-rim accent that sounded oddly familiar.

“Your previous quarters were entirely unsuitable,” Vader released his shoulders. Luke took two quick steps away and crossed his arms over his chest. It was a defensive move, and Vader made no move to approach. “For one of your station.”

Luke paused and glanced back him. The worry was clear in his eyes, so Vader took a step toward the door.

“We will speak at length later, young one,” he promised, missing the terror that spiked.

#$#$#$

Luke held himself together admirably, and when Vader departed, he let out a gusty breath and staggered over the side of a couch. He held himself up for a minute, trying to figure out what he was supposed to be doing and how he was even supposed to feel.

What did he mean that his old rooms were right for someone of his station? Station? Was Luke a prisoner? Was he Vader’s new punching bag? Was Luke going to die here? A triumphant return tarnished by his sudden murder?

But these rooms didn’t seem right. These rooms…had been prepared. They really were beautiful, tastefully decorated, and nothing like the ostentatious nonsense the old Emperor had favored.

An _entire wall_ was a green water feature. It was covered in moss and mossy rocks that stuck out with delicate white and purple flowers, water ran in some places and tricked in others, into a wide basin at the bottom, also filled with water lilies and about a dozen Naboo koi fish. This was more water than Luke had seen in one place in one place in _years_. It was utterly wasteful to someone who had spent the last nine years as a moisture farmer.

It was beautiful, and the gentle movement of water did more to calm Luke’s panic than anything else Vader might have tried. He moved to stare at the wall and glanced around to the other displays. Nothing was even remotely similar to his childhood room. The ceilings were high, not prison-like. The walls were split into two colors, soft blue, and a gentle gold. Not a speck of gray to be seen anywhere. The couches were decorative, a caf table made out of wroshyr wood was already set with a tea-tray. The tea-pot was steaming and warm, and a plate of cookies sat just beside it. There was an armchair with a squashy ottoman. Plants hanging from the walls and sitting adopt stands and furniture.

One open doorway led into a refresher with a tub carved out a single piece of marble. A shower-stall lined with identical marble tiles There was an entire cabinet of towels, a few bathrobes, and beauty products

The other open doorway led into an office, the desk also made from wroshyr wood, and was accompanied by an equally elegant chair. Bookshelves weighed down with books, zines, and datapads with the occasional decoration lined one wall. Another wall was white, and decorated with art that Luke could easily guess to be in the low millions. The lights above it displayed the pieces tastefully and left him wondering what the hell the man was thinking. 

From the living room, he ventured into a conservatory, with more plants and trees and flowers than Luke could remember ever seeing one place. The floor was partly a water feature, with walking paths to carry him over it, filled with more water plants, larger fish that sparkled blue, pink, and orange until the lights. In the center of the room was a space for a table and chairs. As well as a couch set to overlook a particularly attractive portion of the room. An artificial waterfall that splashed and bounced over rocks to form a pool beneath that Luke was pretty sure he could go wading in. Trees arched overhead, shading the room from the artificial sunlight.

In a daze, Luke finally dared the bedroom. He came to a halt, his mouth dropping open as he tried to understand _what_ he was seeing. The room was _at least_ three times the size of his childhood room and many more times the size of his room on Tatooine. Instead of a simple twin bed, with iron-gray sheets, the bed was large enough to fit four of Luke and was covered in a deep blue duvet with a dozen pillows. Getting under that thing had to be a bit like drowning. As Luke dragged his fingertips of it, his callouses caught that fabric, and he drew away.

Another armchair and ottoman, with a small table beside it. This one was set with a pitcher of water and a glass. Another bookshelf, a set of double doors led onto a balcony. That, too, had furniture and places to sit. Someone had seen fit to install a small desk and chair, as there was a wooden sea-chest the likes of which Luke had only heard about in stories.

Tears sprang to his eyes as he surveyed a small refresher attached to the bedroom. He couldn’t believe that these rooms were his, and if Vader has been willing to spend nearly half a billion credits to get him back, then he’d be willing to sink money into these rooms just never to use them. Maybe Vader was willing to keep Luke alive, and a prisoner was easier to keep when they were comfortable.

His mouth worked up and down as he moved back into the front room. Green and water was _everywhere_. It was more spacious, comfortable, and beautiful than _anything_ Luke had ever seen or had been given. Palpatine had always told him not to want too much, and to keep his expenses minimal. This much _comfort_ was so different. It was…unheard of! Everyone knew that Luke had been spoiled…except that he hadn’t been.

Luke moved to sit on the couch, scrubbing away the tears in his eyes, only to stop. He couldn’t sit there! Not on that couch that probably cost more than anything else he’d ever owned. He was still wearing his moisture farming clothes! He was still _covered_ in whatever substances had been clinging to Boba Fett’s seat. Dusty and with sand still shaking out of the folds of his clothes, Luke was _surrounded_ by luxury. A country bumpkin and an unwanted prince in a suite meant for a real prince. He wasn’t sure where he could sit. He wasn’t sure what to do.

Vader had him now…but what happened next? Did the Sith kill him? Leave him to rot in his rooms? Luke hadn’t seen signs of locks on the door, but Vader could have left guards.

A knock came at the door, and Luke whirled around as it opened to reveal a doctor. The doctor was an older man, with white hair and deep-set wrinkles. He was…a Mandalorian? Not just any Mandalorian, this was a clone-trooper.

“Prince Luke,” the man said, his smile was real, but that didn’t set Luke at ease. “Welcome back; it’s good to see you.”

“Who,” Luke drew his cloak closer, staring the man down. “Who are you?”

“Doctor Kix.”

“Hello,” Luke didn’t move as Doctor Kix moved around the room and set the enormous black bag on the table and opened it.

“I’m only here to give you a check-up and make sure you’re healthy.”

“I’m sure that Vader could tell you as much with his Force abilities,” Luke said stiffly, not making a move toward the doctor. “I’m fine.”

“Humor me then, Prince Luke.” Doctor Kix smiled faintly. Luke froze, wondering what this clone was authorized to do. _Vader_ had sent him, and Vader was the Emperor. Luke was his prisoner.

“Fine,” Luke followed the clones directions and sat gingerly on the couch. He stared out the window, ignoring the doctor as he took a few blood samples, checked his heart rate, oxygen levels, and then his temperature.

“You’re pretty well taken care of.” Dr. Kix observed, and he reached over to grab two cookies off the plate. Tossing one into his own mouth, he handed the other to Luke. “Getting plenty of water and hydrating?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Luke muttered. Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru had made sure of it, even if he was wasting so much of a precious resource crying as often as he had. He glanced back at the wall of moss and water, sighing. He tried to nibble on the cookie, but it was too sweet, so he set it back. He’d never gotten a lot of sweets as a child, and they just didn’t have sugar out on Tatooine.

“Huh, you look really good considering you’ve been missing for nine years. Nine crazy years, you won't believe how many people tried to bring in fakes. How are your hands?”

“My hands?” Luke clenched them, not sure why.

“Do you still have the scars?”

“Scars?” Luke opened them again, staring down at the calloused digits and realized that he did have a pair of scars across his palms. They were nearly invisible at this point, and he’d gotten them the night of his escape. “Um.”

“From the rocks on the mountain?” Dr. Kix asked knowingly.

“I…Fett told you?”

“He gave us the reason to check.” Luke’s breathing hitched. “I was afraid they’d gone septic. You know that they searched that whole mountain top?”

“Why?” He croaked, suddenly parched.

Dr. Kix stared at him, assessing and quiet for several long seconds. “In case they found you, your highness.”

“Me?” His body, he realized with a jolt. If they had found him…as he had been nine years ago, still on that mountain top. Which he might have been…if Gottshalk hadn’t saved him if Gottschalk hadn’t been a good and honest man who had wanted to help a child. He could almost see himself in those robes…long since destroyed…lost in the darkness. He shuddered; it was too easy to see. There was a reason Gottschalk had been his protector. “Oh.”

Dr. Kix was quiet a moment longer, “how are you feeling?”

“I feel fine,” Luke replied automatically.

“I’ll take your word,” the clone stood, bowed, and left. As soon as he was gone, Luke rushed to his office space to see if he could find a single means to connect to the holonet and to see what was happening.

#$#$#$

As soon as Kix emerged, Vader pounced on him, and the clone hardly broke his stride as he moved toward the medbay.

“Well?”

“He’s in pretty good health, all things considered, sir. We’ll need the blood work to be finished before I give a definitive answer. I couldn’t tell where he’s been either.”

“I see,” Vader paced along beside him.

“Sir,” they stepped into a turbolift, “he looked lost, and honestly a bit panicked. He was on a planet with a lot of sun and sand. I don’t recognize the styles of clothes. His hands were pretty well calloused, and his hairs been bleached out. He’s got muscle too, so he was probably doing some work. Seemed a bit defensive when I asked him if he was hydrated. Also, I wouldn’t put something too sweet in his room. He doesn’t look like he can stand the taste of it.”

“I see.” Vader watched his old clone trooper rub the back of his neck before turning to his bag.

“I do want to get him down the medbay for some in-depth scans. If you’re right about the way the old man treated him, then I’m worried there might be some old injuries or fractures that might impede his aging well.”

“Palpatine did not suffer enough for his sins,” Vader growled. “I should have killed him _year_ s before.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Kix agreed. “Can’t argue with that.”

#$#$#

Luke wandered around his rooms until he was too dizzy from circular thinking to do anything but sit down. There had been no way to access the holonet. No datapad, not connection, and nothing that would connect him with the outside world. He was, in every sense, cut off from the galaxy.

What did Vader want from him? What was going to happen to him? As long as Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen were alright, he didn’t care too much about what might happen to him.

With a sigh, he thumped down onto the couch, watching the traffic in the distance. He wanted to cry, but he was too afraid to cry. He was too tired, too nervous to weep. He was in Vader’s grasp…and he had no way to escape.

In his drab, worn down moisture farmer's clothes, Luke waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dedicated to Slx99


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family revelation.

Darth Vader had always made an impression on Luke when he was younger. How could he not? He was over six-feet-tall, encased in leather, armor, and armor weave. His helmet was an icon in and of itself. There were reports, holos, and images of Vader curb-stomping entire armies in just _days_. His temper was almost as notorious as he was. Violent, unpredictable, and murderous on a regular basis. He was a Sith Apprentice, and betrayal was the nature of the Sith. Emperor Palpatine had always warned Luke that if he wasn’t protecting him, then Vader would have killed him.

As Luke understood it, Palpatine was Luke’s defense against the younger Sith Lord. The armored monster would kill him as easily as look at him. If Luke ever annoyed him or sounded stupid around him, then he was as good as dead. He was supposed to be grateful for his father’s protection, but the old man had left him defenseless before the likes of Tarkin, Krennic, and a variety of officers.

Vader was a _threat_. His presence was a potential punishment that the emperor continuously dangled over Luke’s head after the first time Luke had seen him strangle an officer. He was the tool Palpatine used to punish whole worlds, and he regularly threatened to set him on Luke.

As Luke continued to wait for Vader’s attention, people came and went from his rooms. Meals, enormous, beautiful, and mouthwatering, were delivered regularly. Luke found snacks and treats popping up around his rooms. The tea-tray was routinely replenished, one thing Luke had missed on Tatooine was tea. He’d never let anyone know that he actually liked tea, afraid that it would have been taken away. For years his habit was to make a face before even bothering to drink it. Had Vader given him the tea because he assumed Luke would hate it? Had Vader sent him the tea because it was “proper” or was he trying to lull Luke into a sense of security. Tea was used to calm a conversation before it even started; it was used to distract, and to poison. 

Someone came to measure him for clothes, and bits of wardrobe began showing up a few days later. His farmer’s clothes didn’t vanish oddly enough but were cleaned, pressed, and sent back. Luke continued to wear them, too frightened to wear any Vader’s colors.

Luke rattled from room to room, fidgeting for a stuffed animal that wasn’t there. He could have used the illusion of protection. Palpatine had proven, and ineffectual protector against Vader and Luke had surrendered Ari, his parents, and Gottschalk all in one go. 

He paused as he wiped down an immaculate surface when he heard a polite cough just after the door opened.

“Yes?” The man waiting by the door was older, rail-thin, and wearing a stiff uniform that complimented the pinched expression on his face.

“Excuse me, “ the man bowed faintly. “I have been waiting to debrief Prince Luke.”

“Debrief?” His attention was caught by another detail. “Waiting?”

“Yes, I’ve been waiting to debrief the prince on current events on the outer rim. My name is Captain Firmus Piett; I’m with the Axillian Anti-Pirate Fleet. I have been hoping that His Highness would have some insight into the movements of various pirates, smugglers, and slavers.”

_Why would I?_ Why was the man addressing him as if he _weren’t_ the prince? Why had he been waiting? What was he expecting Luke to do? Wander out of his rooms? Invite Lord Vader’s temper? Luke didn’t know how to handle the older man yet; he had to work this through slowly.

“Oh.” Luke nodded and realized that Piett _hadn’t_ recognized him as Prince Luke was because he was wearing his old clothes. What did he look like to the man? A servant? A slave? “Why…come here?”

“Prince Luke hasn’t been seen in public,” Captain Piett gestured with his datapad at the walls, “while I understand his reluctance to leave, this is time-sensitive.”

“I see.” Luke turned toward the tea-set and the cookies beside it. In the silence that followed, he moved the cups as if he was preparing them himself.

“Have you,” Captain Piett cleared his throat, “have you _seen_ the Red Prince?”

“The who?” His Tatooine accent had to be coming through because the man relaxed. “The Red Prince?” Was he the Red Prince? He had a _nickname_?

“Prince Luke…the papers and news stations and everyone has been calling him the Red Prince for years. I imagine it is because red was Emperor Palpatine’s preferred color scheme.” Or because everything had been cut short in a shower of blood. “I ask because he hasn’t been seen.” Piett glanced at the doors as if expecting a short Palpatine to come running out.

“Why would he be seen?” Luke genuinely wondered if people were expecting him to go wandering around.

“These rooms are…spectacular, but there is an entire palace to be used and visited. I am a guest of His Majesty, and I believe that I’ve seen more of the Imperial Palace than Prince Luke. I wouldn’t normally be so…gossipy…but since no one has truly met him…I.”

“You want to know how to handle him?” Luke guessed, an unpleasant feeling in his stomach as he realized that Piett was doing what Luke had done—waiting and researching to see how someone would react. _He_ was the Red Prince, a relic of the old regime. Someone to be wary of, someone to _fear_.

Captain Piett looked embarrassed but nodded.

“Ah,” Luke shrugged, “erm.”

“I’m sure he’s different from what you’ve met,” Captain Piett nodded, turning his datapad over in his hands.

“From what I’ve met?” What did that mean?

“You’re from the outer rim, correct?”

“Oh, I.” Luke raised a hand to cover his mouth as if trying to hide his accent.

“You have an accent, a faint one. I’m sure that having an outer rim accent isn’t as accepted in the Core.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” he lowered his hand.

“Most people wouldn’t notice their own accent. It’s perfectly normal.”

“I suppose,” Luke set two teacups down, and poured one. It was interesting, to say the least. If Piett was honest about not knowing that Luke was the prince, then he was honest with the fact that he’d been waiting to meet him, which meant that Luke _was_ allowed out of his rooms. He was _expected_ to visit the rest of the palace. It seemed to indicate that Vader wasn’t locking him up. “Have a cup of tea.”

“Thank you,” Captain Piett nodded, smiling politely. He seemed relieved when Luke left.

It didn’t take long to shed his moisture farmer’s clothes. He was loathe to do so, but he’d need to change if he was going to manage this meeting properly. The selection of robes was a mix of black and various shades of blue. He didn’t _want_ to be the Red Prince. He didn’t want to be anything like Palpatine, and he didn’t want it to seem as if he’d already bowed to Vader’s wishes. There was an outfit, a trim suit made with gold and blue, and it might make him look a tad womanly, but it didn’t make him look anything like either emperor.

He paused on the outer layer, staring at the shirt that Aunt Beru had had to sew a dozen or so times. It was worn, shabby, and he’d had it for years now. It had once been Biggs Darklighters. Most of his clothes had. He needed something to keep himself from feeling as if he’d abandoned every piece of himself that he’d tried to construct around the hollow boy he’d once been.

#$#$

Captain Piett stared into his teacup, relishing the delicate flavor and the lack of sweetness that most in the Core preferred. The young man had been thoughtful enough to prepare it, and he already had a good feeling about this meeting.

He heard someone move, but it was the young man’s soft footsteps. He didn’t rise from his chair until a figure in blue and gold moved around the table and took the seat across the tea-table.

Piett blinked and blinked again; heat flooded his cheeks as his jaw slackened. The only reason he didn’t drop his teacup was that he was frozen stiff in shock. Sitting across from him was the young man from before. The one he’d assumed to be a servant, and had spoken too familiarly with. The same young man now dressed in a wholly civilian set of robes, the sort popular in Naboo’s high fashion. His pose was different, too, commanding, and present. Soft blue eyes stared over the silver tea-service at Piett.

“Please don’t worry, Captain.” Prince Luke’s voice was a unique mix of kind and patient that hid the order neatly.

“I am.” The apology that rose automatically to his lips died as Prince Luke raised hand.

“It’s alright, Captain Piett.” Prince Luke sipped his own tea, watching Piett over the rim of his cup.

Had he just destroyed his career from orbit? He’d gossiped about Prince Luke to _Prince Luke_. The blond didn’t even seem to be aware that he’d had a nickname!

“I haven’t been back in the palace in nine years,” the prince confessed. “I am…unused to the particulars of its workings now.”

Palace politics. He didn’t know how palace politics were played anymore.

“I wish I could offer you insight into the working of the various crimes syndicates and such in the outer rim, but I don’t know.”

“You…don’t know?”

“I wasn’t in the position to learn or notice anything.” The prince seemed fine with his explanation, even if it left Piett a little blindsided.

“Nothing?” He’d come all this way and waited this long for _nothing_?

“I am sorry,” Prince Luke nodded, he looked genuine. Piett could hardly believe it.

“What did you notice then?”

Prince Luke shrugged. Piett couldn’t even begin to guess what he was thinking. “Not much, Captain.” Well, that was a lie. The galaxy had spent _nine_ years searching for him, with an inconceivably high bounty on his head. He had to have known enough to stay hidden from law enforcement _and_ the pirates and bounty hunters. If he revealed any information, then he would probably leave clues as to where he had been all those years. If it were regional information, or if it was specific to some moon, then the search for his hiding place would be narrowed down.

Emperor Vader had thrown Piett at this problem, hoping that he’d uncover the truth by accident.

“That is unfortunate,” he sipped his tea some more. “I suppose that nothing can be done if you were.”

“The Hutts,” Prince Luke said suddenly. “Would rather kill every slave they have than see them free. I suggest,” he paused. “That you proceed with caution.”

“Thank you,” Piett nodded. “Your highness.”

#$#$#$#

“We’ve analyzed the fabric and the materials we found on the bottom of his shoes. It’s not particularly easy to narrow down a planet, but what we do know was that it was a desert planet. His clothes are made from _very_ roughspun nerf wool. Designed to keep particles out, but allow for cool air to get through. We found a great deal of sand and dirt, as well as regular machine oil and grease. We're still analyzing some of the dirt samples to see if they have any matches in the system.” Dr. Ponds, a forensic researcher at the Royal Imperial University, looked thrilled. It wasn’t often that someone was called in to help solve the mystery of the missing prince.

“A planet with moisture farmers,” Emperor Vader read through their report.

“Moisture farmers.” She typed it into her program and pursed her lips. “That still leaves almost 40 planets, your majesty, that fit within the designated criteria.”

“I see.” As much as Vader wanted to shake the boy and _demand_ to know where he’d been, he couldn’t. He wanted Luke to care about him in the future. He wanted to have his _son_ , and he had to avoid everything that might make him seem liked Palpatine.

“We’ll start a more in-depth analysis, sir. Sand is easily tracked from planet to planet, and since so many worlds have variations, it is difficult to pinpoint if the dust came from Jedha or Jakku.”

“Very well, do what you must.”

“Yes, your majesty.” The holo faded a second later, and Vader was left alone in his office. Luke, his son. The most precious being in all of the galaxy. He had lived his life under the tyranny and terror of the old Emperor and had lost everything he’d known in a single day and night. But he was here, grown and healthy.

He was alive, and that was the best that Vader could ask for.

Fear could be assuaged, but death could not.

#$#$#$3

Luke offered as little to Captain Piett was possible. He let the man do a much speaking as he was willing, adding in a quiet hum or nod once in a while to keep things interesting. If Vader did find out where Luke had been, there was no telling what he’d do to his aunt and uncle.

When Piett made to leave, he paused just inside the door and smiled faintly. “Will I see you at dinner tonight, your highness?”

“Dinner?” Luke wondered if this was an order or a suggestion. It also could be a polite invitation. Luke hadn’t left his rooms yet, and judging by Piett’s conversation, it was odd. “I…think so.” As wonderful as these rooms were, he really did want more space. For someone who had spent nine-years with a wide desert to work and play in, this was suffocating. “Yes.”

What time was dinner? Where was he supposed to go? What was he supposed to wear?

“We usually eat at eight, your highness.”

“We?”

“The other guest and myself.”

“Ah.” Who was the other guest?

“I see you at dinner,” Captain Piett bowed politely and left. As soon as he was gone, Luke sagged back onto the couch and buried his face into the cushions. It had been too long since he’d had to practice his doubletalk and court behavriors. He probably sounded more like a country bumpkin than anything resembling the prince he was supposed to be.

How had he done this? How did anyone survive watching and tasting every word before speaking? How did anyone bother with layering motivations and possibilities around every sentence before letting someone else hear them? Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen had been forward and plainspoken, people who knew who they were and confident in themselves.

Hours later, after having agonized over everything he’d said to Captain Piett, he was ready to dare the door.

He paused, his hand inches from the control panel. So far, he hadn’t to open the door, and he wasn’t sure he could live with the idea that it _might_ not open. If he set his hand on the control mechanism and it refused to budge, he wasn’t sure he’d _try_ again. It wouldn’t be worth the effort to be so disappointed. Or would it? If the door didn’t open, then he’d know exactly what Vader wanted from him. The Sith would want to keep his former master's son locked away, an amusing pet and trophy. Entertaining the Emperor and his court with his many failings.

Palpatine had set elaborate traps for Luke to fall into. Was this one? Was this Captain Piett supposed to be the bait? Was this just the joke Vader wanted to pull on his imprisoned canary?

Frozen, Luke might have stood in front of the door all day. He might have pondered over every single implication three times if hadn’t heard someone approaching from the outside. Luke slapped the door controls and stumbled through as quickly as he could in case the door decided to shut on him.

“Your highness?” Luke’s head shot up at Captain Piett’s voice. He straightened, glancing back at the piece of metal. No one moved for a long moment. “The palace has changed a bit, I ‘ve been told. I thought my you might like an escort.”

“Oh.” How much could it have changed? Didn’t Vader keep the enormous dining room and the table that could have fit 20 people but only ever seated one or two. “Thank you, Captain.” He really didn’t know where he was anyway? This set of rooms was in a section of the palace he’d never been allowed in.

"Of course," the man nodded. Luke followed him down the hall, vibrating with fear and anticipation. The rooms he could open the door! Or, maybe he could only open the door because he was expected at dinner? Would they open if he hadn’t been invited to dinner? Would they open if he wanted to go somewhere else? Would they open in the middle of the night? “What do you think of a conservatory?”

“A conservatory?”

“With plants, judging by your room, you’re very fond of them.”

  
“Oh,” planets were a good sign. It meant that you have money and water to spare. Plants could be eaten in a variety of ways, and extra vegetables were a good thing. “Yes, I like plants.”

“Then I think you’ll enjoy this.” Captain Piett was almost smiling.

“I’ve seen the conservatory before,” Luke _had_ grown up in the palace for ten years. 

“I’ve been told its undergone significant renovations,” Piett replied, and his eyes opened wide as the double doors swept open before them. He was right; it looked _nothing_ like it had years before. Gone were the severe, straight metal paths, the metal boxes, and bars the kept the flowers and trees at bay. Gone were the rigid structures and gridded pathways, and utilitarian seats. _This_ was organic. Stone and brick replaced the metal, moving around the hills and mounds. Tree leaves brushed by his shoulders, dappling the artificial sunlight over his dark robes. He heard a distant bird singing and the chitter of a woodland creature. Flowers bloomed from nearly every surface and plants, blossoms from all over the galaxy. The heat was incredible, and for the first time since Luke had arrived, he wasn’t cold.

He peeled off the outer robe and followed the captain, gaping at the marvel. “It _has_ changed,” he agreed, and nearly squeaked as the path became a wooden bridge that rose over an artificial stream. There were rocks, mud and sand, and small fish swimming beneath the surface. It gurgled around a bend and turned out of view. A few bushes on the bank had branches dipping in and out of the water.

A shadow cast of his eyes and Luke glanced up to see a little furry face staring out from the canopy above him. Luke offered it a smile. It screeched and ran away. “Oh.”

“They apparently help with bug population and keep the invasive molds and such at bay. Not the friendliest of animals, don’t feed them anything we eat.”

“No, that wouldn’t be wise.” Luke continued to glance around. The path peeled off a few times, treading further into the conservatory. At one juncture, he could hear a low murmur of voices. He moved closer to Piett on instinct.

“Ah,” around a final turn, Piett gestured at a clearing where a set of table and chairs were already waiting. Three place settings, and a cart of food being unloaded and presented by several servants. As soon as Luke came into view, they turned to each other and began to whisper. “Here, we are!”

“It’s beautiful.” Luke agreed.

“t admit, this is the sort of luxury that I’ll miss when I return to Axilla,” Captain Piett smiled faintly. “Oh,” he waved to a man coming from the opposite end. “General Cody!”

“Captain Piett!” The man nodded respectfully, but his dark eyes fell on Luke in an instant. To the blond's surprise, a broad smile stretched across his face, one of the millions like it. “Luke!”

“General,” he tried to nod, but the clone general had already edged around the table and yanked Luke into a spine-crushing hug. “Uh?”

“You’ve given us all a scare, Luke!” General Cody clasped his shoulders. “Let me get a look at you. Healthy, mmm, you need a bit more height, but I think it’s too late for that. Folks who were decanted the normal way don’t seem to have a lot of uniformity.”

“Excuse me?” Luke stammered. The taller man was grinning down at him. He was a more robust version of Kix with a few more battle scars.

“At least you’re back now.” General Cody sighed. “All of my brothers have been looking for you, Luke.”

Luke _reeled_. Vader’s favorite clone troopers had been looking for him? The 501st had been looking for him, and they hadn’t found him? He’d outsmarted the 501st?

“I.”

“But now that you’re back now and safe, we should have no trouble arranging a proper security escort for you. Only 501st trained, of course.”

“I, erm.” Luke watched the servants leave and eyed the clone general as he ushered Luke toward the table.

“Were you eating properly? Did you get enough? You look ready to blow over.” Even Captain Piett seemed confused, watching the general with an incredulous gaze as he guided Luke to sit down. “It’d be just like you to not eat enough.”

“I’ve been eating just fine,” Luke stammered. “General, really. You don’t need to.” The man continued to pile food on Luke’s plate. “I’m…fine.”

“You’re hungry,” General Cody pushed an entire pitcher of water toward him. “I know the lean look in your eyes.”

“I,” it was oddly familiar. The sort of fussing the Aunt Beru did when Luke spent too much time in the southern field where the suns were stronger and the heat more intense. She’d pulled him into the kitchen with water and a rare treat so he’d cool down and get enough calories to get him through the rest of the day. Except that Aunt Beru wasn’t an agent of Vader, and hadn’t spent the last nine years looking obsessively for him. “General, this is unnecessary.” There was more food on his plate than he was going to eat.   
  


“Your appetite has been waning, correct?” General Cody sat down in his own chair, and Captain Piett took the other one. “You’re not as hungry?”

“I’m not working as much,” Luke said and then gulped. He didn’t mean to say that, but he didn’t want them to think he wasn’t eating out of fear and anxiety, which was the case.

“You need to eat. You look like a doll.”

Faintly offended, Luke picked up his fork and dug into the food. It was dense and rich, and there were pieces of fried food. Suddenly, he _was_ hungry.

“At least you were found by a brother,” General Cody continued. “And not by the likes of Hondo Ohnaka, he would have ransomed you for a cool billion.”

“ _What_?” Who was Hondo Ohnaka?

“Lord Vader would have paid, of course,” he seemed to think that this was reassuring. “But Ohnaka is _obnoxious_.”

“He is!” Captain Piett agreed. “The most persistent pirate I’ve ever met.”

“Who is he?”

“A weequay pirate who has been operating for decades,” Piett avoided the fried food, and Luke wondered if he ought to put his back. As he tried, he caught a glimpse of General Cody’s firm glare. He desisted and brought a corner of the food to his mouth to nibble. “Terrible person, but oddly popular with even his hostages.”

“Ah.”

“You can’t have been with pirates if you don’t know Ohanka. He’s infamous the galaxy over.”

“Right.” Luke ducked his head, continuing to nibble. It was _delicious,_ and fried food was a rare indulgence. He wanted to wolf down the entire plate, but he didn’t want to reveal what he liked in case it could be used against him.

“How are your self-defense skills? Decent, I’m not sure how good you were when you were ten or if you’ve learned anything since then.” Cody was waiting for Luke to respond, so Luke shrugged. “Well, what about weapons?”

“I…suppose I can use a blaster rifle.” He wanted to offer _something_. The man looked too intense for Luke to remain silent.

“How is your marksmanship?”

“Fairly good.” It was excellent. He could clear out entire whomp rats nest and have the fur and the meat with enough left over to sell. Their teeth were excellent deterrents from other predators on Tatooine. Against Uncle Owen’s wishes and without his knowledge, he’d traded an entire nest for a handful of seeds with the nearby Tusken tribe. The plants had had both medicinal uses, as well as excellent flavor that could be used in tea, soups, and eggs. They usually only grew in the deepest parts of the desert and were difficult to access for a normal moisture farmer. He’d had a tidy side-business selling dried branches of those plants to the richer moisture farmers.

“We’ll test it after dinner,” Cody mused. Did this mean Vader wanted Luke to be a stormtrooper? Did he want Luke to be in the army? Was he going to use him as cannon fodder as Tarkin had always threatened? “I would like to see your shooting abilities, Captain Piett. See how your anti-pirate fleet stacks up against 501st training.”

“Not particularly well, I’m afraid.” Captain Piett mused. “I’m handy with a blaster, but I prefer capital ships.”

Maybe General Cody was only curious? It might not be a test? Maybe he was just curious? He had been acting like Aunt Beru, but what if _that_ was a trap too? Nanny had pretended to care, but every mistake Luke had ever made always got back to his father. If he went to the practice range, then Vader was sure to hear about it.

“Luke,” the man didn’t address him as Prince, which was a sign. Luke wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Try the tubers; they’re slow-roasted.”

“Oh, yes,” gratefully Luke pushed the fried meat off his fork and tried a tuber. There was an explosion over flavor over his tongue, but he was reluctant to swallow. Anxiety tightened his stomach, and he forced himself to gulp it down. “It’s delicious.”

#$#$3

Cody was worried and hoped it wasn’t too obvious to the Axillian captain, but as long as he had known Skywalker’s, they had always been hefty eaters. Luke was robust and strong, and before he’d returned to the palace, he’d probably been eating well. Since his return, he must have been eating less. Even at dinner, made by a chef who was renown the galaxy over, the blond was picking at his food like a baby bird.

“Hmmm,” he watched Luke spend more time moving the food around his plate rather than eating. As a clone trooper, he always ate. He’d been conditioned to eat no matter what he was feeling. He would never have sat there and only _picked_ at his food.

Vader, back when he could eat, used to chow on everything and anything he could get his hands on. Commander Tano had been the same way, often eating small vertebrates when rations weren’t enough for her.

Luke was eating like General Kenobi. Something must be bothering him.

He wondered if Kix could order a diet for an upset stomach? Or if there was a way to get him to eat. 19-year-old humans ate _a lot_. The little prince was hardly eating at all.

“So,” Cody leaned forward, not liking how Luke tensed. “If you had been captured by slavers, you would tell us?”

“I don’t…understand.” Prince Luke admitted slowly after a minute of silence. Captain Piett glanced at Cody, who roundly ignored him.

“If you had been captured or kidnapped by slavers, you would tell us so we could destroy them, correct? You would sit there and protect them, would you?”

“I!” Luke sat bolt upright, genuine emotion rising to his tanned face for the first time since Cody had ever seen him, even from recording. “ _I would not_! I’ve seen what they do and how they hurt people. I would not stand by and.” Luke froze the words dying in his mouth. He blinked once, twice, and then leaned back in his chair with a gusty sigh. Cody _watched_ him tuck away every appearance of personality and passion away until the quiet shell was all he could see. “Forgive me, general.”

The kid was quiet and moved the food around his plate as Cody considered his response. “For the record, that was the right answer.”

Captain Piett continued to eat, despite the tension. Cody could respect a man with a robust appetite and worried about a man without one.

@$@##

“What do you mean he won’t eat?” Vader demanded of General Cody,

“Exactly that, sir.” Cody said, “he barely touched his food. He ate just enough, but he hardly seemed hungry. He got angry about slavers and just…folded in on himself.”

“Anxiety can ruin your appetite,” Kix interjected. “He might have been nervous.”

“But his shooting, sir.” Cody made the old clone trooper sign for perfection. “Excellent. I’ve never seen such excellent shooting from a civilian. He was professional, perfectly clustered shots. Better than most sharpshooters I’ve seen from the civilian corps.”

“He’s that good?”

“He was perfect. He handled that rifle like it was a newborn. He knew _exactly_ what it needed. I want to shake hands with the fellow who taught him how to shoot.”

“You are certain he was not with slavers?”

“Not with his reaction,” Cody shook his head. “No, I’m not sure where the little prince was, but he wasn’t with slavers.”

“That’s good,” Kix sighed, “but this eating problem isn’t what I expected. His trays have been coming back normal.”

“He might have been covering for it. He could throw it away.”

“Peculiar.”

“Your majesty.” All heads turned to Captain Piett, who had been sitting silently during the entire conversation. “Excuse the interruption, however.”

“What is it?”

“I am aware that it isn’t my place, but I believe that Prince Luke _is_ protecting someone.”

“That much is clear,” Vader mused.

“I believe that he is unwilling to reveal _where_ he has spent the last nine years with as well as with _whom_ he has spent the last nine years with because he fears how you might react. If he feels he is protecting them, then he will not be moved.”

“They concealed the Imperial Prince,” Vader growled, “they do not _deserve_ protection.” Piett, Cody, and Kix were all silent, exchanging glances until Vader sighed.

“Perhaps he would tell you where he was if you promised not to retaliate.” Kix rubbed his jaw.

“Dismissed, Captain Piett.”

“Yes, your majesty.” The thin man bowed and left.

“I think he’s right, sir.”

“Someone had to take care of him while he was gone. Nine years, sir, is a long time to hide. He had to have been hiding for a reason. I think you’re going to have to promise that you’re not going to retaliate against him either.”

“I would not!” Vader protested.

“Does he know that?” Kix asked quietly, and Vader froze. “Why would he hide like that? As far as he knows, he’s old Sheev’s kid, and you’re the man who killed his father.” Leather creaked as Vader’s fist tightened. “He might think that you’re going to kill him _because_ you think Sheev’s his father.”

That made too much sense. It made an awful amount of sense. Certainly, he had expected Luke to hide from the emperor’s killer, but…what should he have expected? For Luke to return and throw himself into Vader’s arms and declare filial obedience? To thank him for killing the emperor? To thank him for hunting him for _nine years_?

“Then, I must speak with him,” Vader growled. He wished there was a way to handle without a heart-wrenching discussion. Words were not easy to manage, and he usually ended up saying the wrong thing. He could not bear it if he lost his son now.

“Yes, sir.” Kix smiled. “I think that this is one conversation you’ll manage just fine.”

“Perhaps,” Vader grumbled.

“He’s suspicious, sir. He’s got no reason to trust you. You’ve got to make him comfortable.”

“Tell him he’ll be alright, and ask him to eat something.”

“Tell him that you’re proud of him.”

“Make sure you take a present.”

Cody and Vader stared at Kix, who shrugged.

“It’ll make him feel better if he gets something that means something to Vader. If you promise him he’s alright, you have to back it up. He needs concrete evidence.”

“Very well.” Vader considered his options. “I will need time to prepare a proper gift.”

#$#$#43

A day after the dinner and shooting practice the seemed not to have failed, Luke dared to venture out of his rooms again. He wanted to see if he was locked in. He was shocked when the door opened, and he shuffled into the hallway. There were a few bodyguards, but nothing overbearing and oppressive. He could tell that they were members of the 501st, but when no one made a move to send him back, Luke ventured down the hallway and then into the turbolift.

With hesitant steps and movements, Luke explored the new layout of the palace. He found parlor rooms, meeting rooms, guest suits, refreshers, closets, more guards, and a few servants that all giggled his direction before bowing or curtseying and scurrying away.

He was surprised when he stumbled over a meeting room that was already occupied. A tall, dark man wearing Alderann colors was waiting with a blue and white R2 unit. Luke nodded and ducked away, only to pause when the man spoke.

“Prince Luke?” Luke hesitated by the door, waffling over an escape. He could _hear_ the inexplicable emotion in Senator Organa’s voice.

“Senator,” Luke glanced back at him. The R2 unit twittered excitedly, rolling forward to bump into Luke. An extension tugged on his robes, and he let himself be pulled back into the room. “Ah, excuse me. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“It’s,” Bail Organa was a known rebel and a traitor. He had been a friend of many revolutionaries that Palpatine had purged at the beginning of the Empire. Luke had known him only from a distance, and there was no _reason_ for the man to sound so pleased to see him. “It’s alright, your highness. I.”

Luke turned, staring up at the older man. He reminded Luke of Uncle Owen, but perhaps less strict and firm. The man was soft and kind, and everything Palpatine had hated. He was loved, and that was what made Palpatine jealous. “Hello.”

“Luke,” like Cody, and Vader, the older man set his hands on Luke’s shoulder. “ _Luke, you’re alive_.”

“I thought that it would have been announced by now?” Luke didn’t dare shrug off the hands; he didn’t know where Organa stood in Vader’s new order.

“It was,” Bail’s smile reminded Luke of the time he’d been knocked over the head by a falling oil can. Uncle Owen had had the same expression on his face when he’d woken up. Affection and relief. “No one’s seen you, your highness. _Luke,_ you’ve grown so much! You were just seven the last time I saw you in person. Look at you! You’re so tall, and…you’re in excellent healthy.”

“Yes,” Luke bit his lip, and his eyes went wide as he was crushed against the man’s chest. It was a hug worthy of his adoptive father. It felt as if Senator Organa’s warm affection would seal the cracks in Luke, and his arms would hold him together until he was one piece again. Luke’s eyes watered instantly, and he bit his lip as he leaned into the instinctively. “Thank you, Senator Organa.” His voice was cracking, but he didn’t pull away.

“I’ve been so worried about you, Luke.” The man didn’t disengage the hug, but he did lean back a bit. “You’ve been missing for so long. The galaxy isn’t safe! Pirates, smugglers, and slavers! You could have been hurt.”

“Yes,” Luke swallowed; he wanted to lean back against the broad chest. It had been almost a month since he’d gotten a hug, and he hadn’t realized just how much that would affect him. Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru had been free with their hugs and affection.

“I’m not certain that these circumstances are the best,” Senator Organa beamed. “But I am so happy to see that you’re alive, Luke.”

“ _Oh_.” Luke bit his lip, looking down at the droid as it bumped against him. “Hello.”

“R2-D2, a dedicated astromech. He seems to have taken a shine to you.”

“Hello, R2.” Luke and Bail ceased hugging, and Luke knelt down before the droid. It surveyed him and beeped excitedly. “It's nice to meet you.” R2 rocked back and forth, buzzing and chittering. “Thank you; you have a nice shine about you too.”

“You understand him?”

“Binary is pretty easy to understand once you practice,” Luke stood, patting the droid. “What…brings you to the palace?”

“I’m here to discuss what can be done about the displacement of the ex-slaves and rescued hostages. Alderaan is more than happy to help, but we can’t be the only planet involved.”

“Slaves? Hostages?”

“Yes, most thought as you do. That Vader would stop the anti-slavery coalition once you were found, but he’d decided to go forward with the project. It’s been an excellent project, but I’m afraid there are a few logistical snags that won’t be easy to solve.”

“Such as?”

“Where to put everyone. What to do with an education system, money, and other things.”

“Oh, you won’t be able to solve that.” Luke swallowed as Bail raised an incredulous eyebrow. “You’re very…good at your job, senator, but you’re an offworlder. Your ideas are based on what you know and what you're experienced with, and your impressions aren’t going to be accurate, no matter how much you try. You need to ask people who have been helped what they want. You’re going to need both parties working together, and the Imperial party is mostly going to need to listen.”

“That is…astute.” Bail blinked a few times. “I am not so vain to not recognize my own failings, your highness. That is exactly what I was going to suggest.”

“Ah,” Luke flushed. His first potential ally and he’d insulted him.

“You’re very wise, Prince Luke. Most wouldn’t have noticed the flaw, and I’m glad you were comfortable enough to bring it to my attention.”

“I, oh.” Luke stared at him. His flush died a little, but he was still embarrassed. “Thank you.”

“My daughter has the same instinct. She pounces all on injustices she sees.” The man sounded proud. “You must come to Alderaan for a visit. Queen Breha and my daughter would love to meet you.”

“I’ve heard the mountain homes are excellent places for those with shattered nerves,” Luke’s wane smile made Bail’s dim. “That might prove useful in the future.”

“Are you alright, Prince Luke?” Bail asked, “you haven’t been hurt, have you?”

Luke couldn’t help but stare. No one had ever bothered to ask that question before. No one had cared to, and…he _hadn’t_ been hurt. Not even with Vader looming in the background of his life. He had wonderful rooms; he could _leave_ his rooms. He was getting new clothes delivered every day. The food was easier on his stomach, and he wasn’t feeling tired and as frightened all of the time. As much as uncertainty wore on him, he was almost sure he could handle it.

“I’m doing much better than I was before,” Luke admitted. Senator Organa stared at him before nodding.

“I am glad to see that you’re doing well.” Organa nodded. “Truly, Prince Luke. I…I feared the worst the night of the attack.”

_Why_? Why did Bail Organa care about a prince? He believed in democracy, and one less false royal to take a fake throne should have been a good thing. He _cared_ about Luke? Did he care as Gottschalk had? Not about the prince or the royal…but the child…the young man?

“Oh,” Luke scrubbed at his watery eyes. “Thank you, Senator.” He hadn’t realized that people on Imperial Center could care. He moved toward the door again, giving the droid a pat, when the door opened, and Emperor Vader stepped through.

“Ah,” he stumbled back a step, alarmed at the man’s sudden appearance. “Lord Vader! I, uh.”

“Have you come to join us, little prince?” Vader asked, hooking his thumbs on his belt.

“Join you?” Luke stammered and used R2s little dome to keep himself steady.

“You may offer unique insights,” Vader suggested.

Was this a test? Did Vader want Luke to run away? Did he want Luke to sit down and do his best? What did he want from Luke? Was this a demonstration like the night Luke had escaped? When he was supposed to have an entire presentation ready.

“I am not certain,” Luke swallowed as best he could with his dry mouth. “I can offer _any_ insights, your majesty.”

“I insist.”

And Luke’s fate was sealed.

It surprised him when it wasn’t all bad. Bail Organa had come prepared with dozens of data charts and information, as well as historical references and economic models. It was more of a conversation to _set up_ further discussion on the subject. Luke was adept at reading data models he’d done with the droids he’d reconstructed, and Uncle Owen had taught him how to figure the budget for an entire farm. It wasn’t the same as the facts and figures for an entire Empire, but Luke had a basic idea of what he was looking at.

Unfortunately, nothing like this had happened in recent memory. No one had bothered to take on the slavers and pirates, and Luke couldn’t believe that Vader was continuing his crusade even after he’d acquired Luke.

Vader was peculiar in that he did offer insights into the minds and workings of slavers. He seemed to know the hutts and their ilk well. Which made sense, Luke knew that Palpatine had built much of his work on slave labor.

“Careful consideration must be given to Tatooine,” Emperor Vader said at last when the meeting was winding down. A bolt of terror shot through Luke, and he slowly turned toward the Sith. “Slavery has ancient roots on that planet. It threatens even those not in the slave markets.”

Tatooine! How did he know about Tatooine? No one knew about Tatooine! It was a dust ball so far out of the way that only smugglers and Hutts cared about it! Luke had never even heard of it before he’d crash-landed there. How did Vader know about it?

He was correct too. Luke hadn’t just needed to hide his face because he was blond, but because he was considered pretty _and_ useful. Uncle Owen had been very straightforward with him when he explained the many, many dangers on Tatooine. He’d never asked for Luke to stay behind for town visits because it was a punishment, but because it was safer if Owen went. It wasn’t as if slavery had ever been far away from Luke even when he was the Imperial prince, Palpatine had threatened him with it a thousand times. Telling Luke that he’d sell him to a junk dealer one day.

With Vader, he actually felt safer on that front.

“I agree,” Bail Organa was looking at Luke. He wondered what expression was on his face. “Prince Luke?”

“Wouldn’t Nal Hutta be the place to concentrate the efforts?” Luke asked. “It is where the hutts have their estates and palaces.”

“Very true,” Vader agreed. “It is late; I believe that this meeting has reached its natural conclusion. We will speak later, Senator Organa.” The man left, R2-D2 whistled mournfully in Luke’s direction as he rolled away. When Luke was alone with the emperor, he stared at the opposite wall. It was easy to hide in the many folds of his clothes, both in an effort to keep warm and present a smaller target. “Are your room too cold?”

“Excuse me?” A shy glance toward the older man was all he dared.

“You have been wearing many layers, little prince. Even now, you are dressed for the chill.”

“I suppose,” Luke swallowed, “it is a little colder.”

“Indeed,” Vader was still staring at him. “I presume your room are to your liking.”

“Yes,” Luke’d hair bobbed as he nodded up and down. “They’re wonderful.”

“Great care was given to their design and construction, but even that does not explain why you have hardly ventured forward from them.”

“I.” His face heated up. “I. I.” Vader was still staring at him, expecting an answer. The truth? A lie? What would upset the man? What would he think if Luke told him the truth? The Sith took a step closer, and Luke dared not step back. “I um.” He looked away. “I didn’t know…I didn’t think…that I was allowed out without permission.” Whatever response he was expecting, the last thing he expected was for Vader to rear back and for shock to echo in the air around him.

Vader was silent for a few beats and then nodded. “You were locked in your room the night of the coup.” It wasn’t a question, but Luke nodded anyway. “In spite of the fact that part of the palace was in flames?”

“Yes,” Luke nodded

“Know this, little prince,” Vader sounded angry, and Luke wondered what he’d done. Could he fix this? He inched away. “ _I_ will never lock you away. You are free to come and go from your rooms and all sections of the palace as you please. If you choose to leave the palace for any reason, I only ask that you take bodyguards.”

“Oh,” that was not what he had been expecting. “ _Thank you_.”

“You have no reason to thank me, little prince. It is only right.” Vader was fuming, and Luke couldn’t even guess why. “You weren’t allowed out of your rooms before?”

“No, I was not.” It had kept him focused on his studies. “I was a poor student,” he decided to explain. “I…often disappointed my tutors. So, I wasn’t allowed.”

“Fools!” Vader boomed, and Luke swallowed. “You were an exceptional student.”

“I was not! I couldn’t manage to.”

“You were lied to,” Emperor Vader seethed, pacing away from Luke. “ _Lied to_! Manipulated! Very few men could have sat through that meeting and understood half of what you did! Do you truly believe that you are stupid, little prince?”

Luke gulped; he couldn’t begin to guess why his throat was clogged. “I don’t…know, your majesty. I…I never heard otherwise.” Except from the village teacher, but Luke had attributed that to the fact that the school wasn’t very good. He’d mostly gone to learn how to socialize.

“You are not only intelligent, little prince.” Vader stalked from one end of the room to the other. “You are both wise and clever. It might not have been noticed by those fools that Palpatine hired, but it was noted by _everyone else_! Even I noted how intelligent you were when you were just a child.”

Luke sucked on his bottom lip and blinked away the beginnings of tears. “Thank you, your majesty.”

“You do not believe me,” Vader growled, “then we shall _test_ facts against fiction, little prince.”

“How? On what? I’ve spent the last nine years in exile. Even if I was smart, then, I might not be now.”

“It would only take a child of cunning and wit to survive the upbringing you suffered,” the emperor said after a moment. “There is an extensive archive. I would like you to visit.”

“I.”

“Even if you did not study and did not learn meaningless facts and dates, you would still be wiser and more clever than most.” Overwhelmed, Luke almost reeled into the previously abandoned chair. “Excuse me, little prince.” Vader was gone in an instant. As soon as he was gone, Luke collapsed onto the chair, gasping for air.

_Vader_! Vader had noticed Luke’s intelligence! When even his line of tutors and teachers and Palpatine hadn’t! One tutor had _refused_ to teach Luke, explaining that he could not educate a child determined to be a fool.

Had they been lying to him? Palpatine had lied about everything else, including the fact that Vader would kill him if given half the opportunity. So far, the Sith hadn’t done anything but shower Luke in gifts and compliments.

Luke wasn’t sure what to think anymore.

#$#$#$

He started venturing out of his rooms more after that. He met more of Vader’s officers and soldiers, including General Veers, Admiral Thrawn, and Admiral Rae Salone. He hadn’t thought an alien would be allowed any sort of rank in the Empire.

Thrawn had been unsettling, staring at Luke for a little while too long and making random observations that confused and upset him. Including the fact that Vader had summoned all of Luke’s old tutors and teachers and then executed half and jailed the rest of them. He’d also expressed admiration for Luke’s nine-year disappearing act.

At least, Luke thought he was expressing admiration. It was honestly a little hard to tell.

Luke certainly wasn’t comfortable in the Imperial Palace. He still guarded his words on most occasions and refused to explain anything about the last nine years or where he’d picked up a variety of confusing skills and knowledge. He just wasn’t sure what Vader expected him to be. What Vader _wanted_ him to be. Did he want Luke to be grateful that he was back at the palace? Was he setting Luke up to make a mistake?

He kept his moisture farmer's clothes on principal, hiding them away in the bottom of his closet. He occasionally ran a hand over the coarse fibers as a reminder. A reminder to who he had been, to who he had become, and to the man he could be.

The stress of culminated one day, when Luke wandered out of his bedroom nursing a bruising headache

He found Emperor Vader waiting in his living room, a deep shadow against the light and green of the plants and decorations. He drew all light inward, dimming the room, and Luke pulled away.

“Your…majesty?” What was he doing in Luke’s room? Why was he here for Luke? What did he want? Was this the point at which he stopped pretending to coddle Luke? Was this the time he revealed the true reason for bringing him back? “I?”

“Apologies for intruding at this early hour, little prince.” Emperor Vader said, turning from the wall of green.”

“It is…not trouble.”

“You are afraid,” Vader observed, and Luke froze. He was really out of court practice, and he wasn’t sure what to say. The Emperor clasped his hands behind his back, and Luke dithered and then finally bowed his head.

“I have always been afraid, my lord.”

“Perhaps you have been afraid more days than most, but you have a few where your fear was lessened?”

“I.” Luke was so accustomed to terror and fear that he wasn’t sure he could feel either anymore. At least, not to the vivid, wretched extent he felt it now. “ _What_?” He croaked.

“For nine years, you were in exile, somewhere on the outer rim. After the tumultuous night when you vanished without a trace when you lost the only home you knew, you made a new one. Someone took great care and attention to calm your fear, to assure you that your faults would not bring unprecedented discipline.”

Luke swallowed, Vader was only guessing! He didn’t know for sure! Vader _couldn’t_ know.

“You were taught, guided, and educated. General Cody has relayed that you are an excellent marksman. Captain Piett made mention that you were kind enough to ignore his faux pas, as well as remain patient with him. Senator Organa tells me that you have a varied and intelligent mind, with a keen interest in expanding it.”

He flushed despite himself.

“ _Someone_ raised you, little prince. Not the monster that was Palpatine, not the cronies he surrounded himself with.”

His knees were weak, and Luke locked them to keep himself upright.

“When I removed Tarkin from this galaxy, I scoured his records and properties for any sign that his agents had spirited you away.” Luke turned away from the emperor. “You have feared _me_ for so long, little prince.”

Luke bit his lip and forced a tiny nod.

“You need not,” Vader stepped closer, fabric brushing along the tops of his boots. “You need not fear me or for those you are protecting.”

“I,” Luke opened his eyes when Vader _didn’t_ set his hands on Luke’s shoulders. They were open in front of him, a small square of japor resting from a leather string. “What?”

Japor was worthless to offworlders, but it was prized among the residents to Tatooine. It had a great many meanings; affection, love, trust, devotion, and could even signify a proposal. The meaning could primarily be gleaned through the inscriptions carved into it.

Vader shouldn’t have ever heard of Japor. He shouldn’t know anything about it, or have an inkling of what he had carved into it! He couldn’t realize that he had carved parental affection and devotion onto a piece of wood that Luke _knew_ to be valuable to a select few in the galaxy.

He locked his knees even further, his breath coming short.

“You.” What did it mean? Could Vader _know_? Had Fett told him? What had _happened_?”

“This is for you, little prince.”

Had he taken it from Uncle Owen? Had he taken it from Aunt Beru? Had he found them, burned their home down, and stolen a gift intended for Luke? Had he?

“To ensure that this gift would be to your liking, I carved this piece.” Luke stared blankly down at the wood, wondering why his thoughts weren't coming. He wondered why his vision was blurred.

“ _What_?” The word trembled from between pale lips.

“It is for you,” Vader continued.

“You have,” Luke swallowed, “give me many gifts…what makes this one…special?”

“It is from my homeworld.” Lightening race up his veins. “Tatooine.”

He picked the gift off Vader’s hands, admiring the smooth lines and the dye that had been pressed into them. “It is beautiful. You…made this?”

“Yes.” Luke couldn’t sense the lie, but nothing made sense. Why would Vader have this? Had Vader really come from a miserable dust world like Tatooine?

“I don’t…” his fist closed over it. “I don’t understand. Why…why would you bother? Why would you give me gifts? Why make me this? I don’t understand what you want from me.” He was too tired and stressed to cry, but tears were rising regardless of his personal desire. “Why do you want me to have this? Why did you want me back at all? I’m just a bastard son of the old emperor!” The combined stress had him cracking around the seams. “I’m not any use to you. I don’t know any information! I’m not strong or useful, and you can’t even marry me off!

“Luke.”

“This doesn’t make any sense! Just…tell me what you want from me! I’ve read the books! I went and studied in the archives! I’ve…I’ve…I don’t know! Please, stop…this. I can do whatever you want me to, Lord Vader, just _tell me_! Please!” He almost had the feeling that he startled the man. Luke’s head ached, and his vision was getting a glimmering set of black spots that couldn’t be good. “I…just don’t know.”

“You misunderstand,” for the first time since Luke had known him, the man was at a loss that was visible even to the blond. “Luke!” The black spots hadn’t just been Vader’s armor taking on a wretched life of its own or even of Luke working out how to sensing oncoming dead.

Luke passed out, collapsing directly into Vader’s outstretched arms. Pulled into the inviting calm of unconsciousness, he didn’t see how Vader cradled him frantically, shouting for a medic.

The next thing he was aware of was being laid flat on his bed, and someone had tucked the topmost sheet around him. He was still clutching the japor snippet in his hand and blearily turned to see Vader and Dr. Kix standing beside the bed.

“What happened?”

“You locked your knees,” Kix didn’t sound impressed. He looked annoyed, and Luke couldn’t guess why he might be. “And you’re sick.”

“I don’t get sick,” Luke argued and tried to sit up. Only to have Vader push him back. “What. No. I don’t.” He thought back to his first few weeks on Tatooine and let himself be pushed against the pillows.

“You didn’t just cut off the blood flow,” Kix looked more annoyed than ever. “You’ve been stressing yourself right into illness. Your blood pressure is too high; your heart rate is too high, you haven’t been eating _shit_ , you haven’t been exercising. You’ve been wasting away. You’re on bed rest until I feel like you’re not about to crack into a hundred pieces.” Dr. Kix’s glare was formidable enough that Luke nodded meekly. He stared when Kix turned the same glare on the emperor. “Someone has some _explaining_ to do.”

Luke gulped, but Dr. Kix stormed out of the room, leaving the Emperor and the lost prince alone.

Vader watched the man leave, and even after the door shut, kept staring in the direction he’d left. Finally, he turned to Luke, who gulped.

“Perhaps,” he mused, “that could have been handled better.” Luke didn’t answer or question what he meant. He sat seemed to dither a moment before summoning one of the armchairs to the side of the bed, sitting down, resting his elbows on the armrests, and clasping his hands together. Luke gulped. “Permit me to be succinct. Full pardon and amnesty granted for those who you are protecting.” Luke clutched his blankets, drawing them up. “Furthermore, a significant monetary reward for having protected and raised you.”

“Are you out of your damn mind!” Luke snapped, unconsciously echoing Uncle Owen he the man had to deal with reluctant Jawa traders and junkers. Vader leaned his head back an inch or two, bemused. “Are you…insane?”

“I did not think so,” Emperor Vader didn’t _seem_ upset with him. Since Luke’s return, he had never seemed upset with Luke. It gave Luke the courage to continue. “Enlighten me, little prince.”

“ _Don’t call me that_!” Luke snapped, “I am not your little prince. I’m practically a doll at this point. I’m not going to give you any information that can be used against the only family I’ve ever had!” Vader’s helmet tilted to the side. “Your promises and the promises of the entire Empire are built on _sand_! I only have you _word_ to grant me any relief that they wouldn’t be harmed. Just your _word_. Your honor and your promise, and do you think I’m going to fall for that?” Was the fever making him talk like this? “Why would you help the people that had been protecting me?”

“I owe them a debt that I cannot repay,” Vader interrupted. “Protecting you against further horrors of the galaxy. For raising a wise and patient young man.”

“Protecting me against you?” Luke snapped. “The bounty practically tripled a few years ago! You looked for me because you wanted to kill me, didn’t you?”

“Initially,” Vader admitted, and Luke’s mouth closed up. “However, as time passed, I learned the true extent of Palpatine’s crimes.”

“You executed my old tutors.”

“Some of them,” the Emperor amended, “data was retrieved only a few years ago. There is a truth…to your father that you don’t know.”

“Palpatine wasn’t my biological father?” Luke asked, and he _knew_ that the Sith was surprised. “Fett took a blood sample three times to be sure. He…said that I didn’t look anything like the man. He said…I didn’t even resemble him. I thought…I hoped that he was right.

Vader’s mask hissed, and there was something like a sigh. “How clever you are,” and Luke sagged against his pillow as the first sensation of relief and hope finally began to blossom.

He would have given _anything_ to not be related to Palpatine. _Anything_ to wash the old man’s sins off his shoulders. To stand on his own, in the light without the shadows of Palpatine hiding him. Tears tracked down his face, and Luke pulled one of the smaller pillows closer. Crying in front of the Emperor _wasn’t allowed,_ but Luke didn’t care because he wasn’t Luke Palpatine. _He wasn’t Luke Palpatine_!

“Luke?” Vader’s deep voice shook the rest of his emotions loose. Luke tried not to show just how hard he was sobbing; the sheer _relief_ was a soothing balm over the hundreds of insecurities and fears. Uncle Owen said that men didn’t not have to become their fathers. He told Luke that it would be up to the blond to decide what kind of man he wanted to become. Owen had not become Cliegg, so Luke did not have to be anything that Palpatine wanted him to be.

Still, Luke had _never wanted_ to be the son of the Emperor. Long Tatooine nights had illuminated just how much he had hated being the prince. How much he had hated his father. How much more Luke preferred to be near destitute moisture farmer than the future emperor.

Vader seemed to give up and waited for Luke to regain control of himself. “If,” his headache was back and worse than before. It was the last thing on Luke’s mind. “If I’m not…his son…then why do you want me? If I was…a prop or something, then I’m not really a prince! I’m not… _anyone_.”

“That is not true,” Vader was offended because of Luke or on his behalf, he wasn’t sure. “You are a prince through your mother’s blood.”

“My…mother?” Luke immediately thought of Aunt Beru. She was his mother; she was all the mother he needed. Luke had never paid attention or wondered about his biological mother; Palpatine had always held her in low regard. Since the man had lied about _everything else_ , then maybe the stories about his mother were lies too.

“She was…a queen. She was proud and compassionate. Every act she did was for those she wanted to protect. She _lived_ for the galaxy, and she lived to protect those that couldn’t protect themselves. The public adored her; she was held in high regard even by her enemies.”

“Oh.”

“Many of the cruelties you suffered were Palpatine’s malicious attempts to exact revenge against your mother for having and being everything that he could not.”

“He said she was.” Luke swallowed the word when Vader tensed.

“Lies, few held such moral conviction and remained close to their ethics even when mired in politics and a war effort. Anything he might have told you or insinuated was a lie.”

“Who was she?” Luke asked, not particularly in the mood for a roundabout answer. Vader was known for being forthright, but he was bandying around the truth at the moment.

“Padme Amidala.”

“Oh,” Luke chewed on his bottom lip.

Vader remained silent, waiting for Luke to react. Perhaps he wanted Luke to be ecstatic that he was related to a Queen of Naboo, a Senator, and a brave warrior. Maybe he wanted Luke to react at all. Luke, didn’t know how to react.

Luke had never missed his mother because she had never been important. Beru was his mother in every sense of the word. She was the one who had clipped Luke’s hair back, taught him how to sew and chop vegetables and fix machines. Beru was the one who loved him as much as he loved her. The absence of a child in her life and the hollow of a mother in his.

Padme Amidala was just another public figure. Another near-mythological being to compare himself to.

He almost wished that his mother _really was_ some random woman who had dumped him on the palace steps and run away.

“You were stolen by her enemies the very day you were born, little prince.”

“I killed her?” He always seemed to kill the people he wanted to save. Gottschalk, and maybe even the Lars’s now.

“No,” Vader gently unfolded Luke’s clenched fist and showed him the necklace. “She died due to poor medical conditions. Naboo mourned the loss of their little prince, even as the Emperor introduced you as his.”

“Padme Amidala wasn’t married.” Luke’s dull tone alarmed the Sith.

“Not publically, no. A similar necklace was buried with her…carved by her husband.”

Luke blinked…and blinked again. “You don’t bury japor!” He protested. “It’s a waste!” Burying valuables on Tatooine was ridiculous! You didn’t seal gifts and jewelry in darkness with a corpse! Hiding them was a given, but if you needed them in the future, you didn't want to have to desecrate the body by digging them up. Then, Vader’s statement smacked him across the face and nearly fainted again. “A similar necklace?”

The Emperor was tense. “Yes.” If Vader wanted to ask how Luke _knew_ you didn’t bury valuables in accordance with Tatooine tradition, he didn’t.

Part of Luke wanted to hurl the necklace across the room and start screaming. The other part of Luke wanted to throw up. “Ah,” he stared at the necklace in his hand.

“Tatooine,” Vader said definitively, “you were on Tatooine.” Vader hadn’t told Luke was sort of wood the necklace was made from, a wood that was distinctive to Tatooine.

“Uh.” He felt his stomach twist. “No?”

“Then, you _know_ what this necklace means.” The Emperor sounded… _annoyed_?

“Yes,” Luke stared at the ceiling. “I do.”

“Then.”

“The night you attacked, I was in my room.” Luke rolled over, facing away from Vader. He traced over the carving line by line. “He said I hadn’t done well in my studies, and to motivate me; he wanted me to present a project on the Clone Wars. Then the attack came.” He breathed quietly for a few minutes. Even years alter the initial jolt of terror he’d felt hadn’t died away. It seemed to amplify through the intervening years. “I was so _scared_. It was you..and your men. You were here to kill us.” Vader’s breathing hitched. “I called for Nanny. I was so _scared_. I was alone. I called for her, and she never came. She stayed away, and I couldn’t get out. The palace was on fire, and I couldn’t,” Luke’s throat swelled up. “I couldn’t _get out_. I couldn’t get help. I couldn’t run away. I was trapped.”

He paused, breathing to the fear and the pain and grief and the betrayal that still stung even heard later. Vader’s steady breathing helped calm him faintly.

“Then, a knock came at the door.” He let out a wet chuckle. “They were here to help. They wanted to help _me_ —the stupid, ignorant, pathetic little Prince Luke. I didn’t know who to trust. I didn’t know what to do…but he got me out. He got me out, and I saw Nanny when we left. She was dead. He’d killed her…I think she’d put up a fight, but she was dead.”

He fell silent.

“You climbed down the shaft?” Vader suggested, and Luke nodded.

“We hiked the mountain for hours.” On a rare humid day on Tatooine, Luke could still smell the mountain and the trapped air beneath the palace. “And we stopped…I woke up on a ship. He told me that my father was dead, but that he’d protect me. He said that he’d make sure I was alright. You were Emperor, and my father was dead, and my home was burned. We ran away. He hopped from planet to planet, we hide in alleys and spaceports, and sometimes someone was nice enough to let us stay in their house. We got a ship…a terrible ship. It…was falling apart. It…wasn’t any good. We crashed…we crashed, and a bolt came loose.” Even now, he could hear the metal ripping apart and the sound the bolt made as it ricocheted around the cockpit. “It hit him in the head. It hit him in the head, and he never woke up.” He curled around the necklace. “He never woke up again. I tried to find help. It was so hot and dusty, and there was so much sand. Sand _everywhere_. But I found someone, a moisture farmer who helped take him inside.”

“You dragged a grown man across the desert?” Vader asked, “at ten?”

“Yes, but it didn’t do any good. He died without ever waking up. I…was alone again. I was…sunburned, and I couldn’t walk because of the blisters, and I couldn’t see because of the sun blindness.” There came a soft noise, and Luke started when Vader set a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I… _they_ saved me. They buried him…they saved me. They took care of me, even though I had just fallen out of the sky. I was less than useless. I took up water and medicine and resources. I was noisy; I couldn’t help. I was practically an infant for days. They…cared about me. They wanted me to stay. They let me stay with them, and they _wanted_ me.”

There was relief, but it wasn’t coming from Luke. He turned his head to see that Vaders had sunk onto the bed. Relief bled off every line of his armor. Luke wondered why.

“They loved you?” The emperor asked, rising faintly.

“They love me,” Luke corrected him. “I…I went with Fett. I made him swear that he could keep their location secret. They adopted me, and the only way I can repay them is by protecting them from you.” It wouldn't be hard for Vader to find out where Luke had been based on this information alone. “I’ve had a father before,” Luke told him blankly. “What good are you?”

_“Luke_ , please. Little one.”

“Once,” Luke continued to breathe shallowly. “I trusted a father once, and he betrayed me every time I offered it to him. I’ve never trusted you. Why should I?”

“One chance, little prince.” Vader slid off the chair, kneeling at Luke’s beside. His mask was still level with Luke’s head; he clutched at Luke’s hand. The necklace dangled between them. “One opportunity to prove myself to you, little prince. That is all I ask. Let me prove that I am _worthy_ to be your father.”

Luke thought back to Owen Lars, a kind if stern man. The first one to have reasonable expectations of Luke and the first one that had shown Luke that being a man didn’t have involve violence and anger. It wasn’t a relentless show of strength.

Vader had ripped the galaxy about for Luke. Vader had started in on projects and missions that no one in the last 500 years had even _conceived_! There were programs for ex-slaves, rehabilitation programs for criminals, and smugglers. Vader had paid an enormous sum to _find_ Luke! 

Luke was afraid to think that the older man did care because he wasn’t sure how to tell if he didn't.

“Swear it,” Luke ordered, “swear it on your Force in such a way that if you break it, you will never know peace. Because if you break your word, I will burn this palace down with you in it.”

Vader nodded, “I swear it.” It wasn’t as dramatic as Boba Fett’s promise, but Luke felt the universe shift. It was as if the stars themselves were watching the conversation.

“Captain Gottschalk saved me,” Luke sat up again, leaning over the necklace. Tracing _parental devotion_ again and again. “He…he was my protector.”

“A courageous man,” Vader mused.

“He was a good man,” Luke agreed. “Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru adopted me.” He closed his eyes, knowing that there would be little he could do to save his aunt and uncle if something happened. He was totally reliant on Vader’s words and promises. “Owen and Beru Lars.”

Vader was silent, his mask unreadable, and then, “my step-brother adopted you?” He was incredulous. Half-standing and visibly shocked. “You crash-landed on the Lars homestead?”

“Yes, I… _ANAKIN SKYWALKER_?” Maybe Luke was smarter than he thought?

Father and son stared at each other, equally shocked, and then Luke began to laugh. Vader calmed slightly as Luke laughed joyously. “I really am her grandson! I really am…Luke Skywalker!”

“That name,” Vader tried to be stern, but there were other questions he wanted answered. “What do you mean?”

“That was my cover,” Luke doubled over, laughing into his knees. “I looked so much like Anakin Skywalker that they thought I was his son! The old holo of the Boonta Eve Classic win! I found it one day. They said I was Shmi Skywalker’s grandson!” he brushed the tears from his eyes. “I used to pray that it was true. I used to beg the universe to make me the son of _anyone_ else. They really are my family! They really are my aunt and uncle! I have to tell them!” He moved to stand, but Vader set a hand on his shoulder and shoved him back.

“You are on bed rest—orders from Dr. Kix. You will remain in bed until you have recovered.

“But they’re my family! They’re worried sick! I know they are! I have to talk to them! I ran away. I was a coward.”

“You were not a coward. You were dong the best with the circumstances you thought you believed. They will forgive you. Lay back and recover. I will send someone to contact them.”

“NO!” Luke froze, breathing hard. He really felt horrible, and the half a dozen familial revelations were making him dizzy. “Just…stay.”

“As you wish,” Vader agreed instantly. He sat back down, and Luke continued to grin as he stared at the necklace. “Would you like to wear it?”

“Are you really my father?”

“Yes, little prince.”

“If you break your word,” Luke mused, “Grandmother Shmi will come back to knock you over the head.”

“Very likely, but I have no intention of _ever_ giving you a reason to doubt me.”

“Oh,” Luke smiled. He really wanted to get up and run around. He wanted to jump around, to hoot, to make all sorts of obnoxious noise because he _wasn’t Luke Palpatine_! He didn’t even care that Anakin Skywalker had somehow made himself a Sith Lord. By nature of figuring out that Palatine had been lying, using, and manipulating and refusing to fall into the same trap, he had defeated the old man. “Then, yes, I want to wear it.” He handed the necklace to his father and turned away, lifting the back of his lengthening hair out of the way. With more care and delicacy, he would have attributed to the Sith Lord, Vader tied the necklace around his neck. It felt just over his collarbone, standing out against the darkness of his clothes. 

“You are so brave, my son. So brave and intelligent and wise. I would like for you to never doubt this. I would like you to never doubt that I am proud of the man you have become.”

“Luke Skywalker,” he tasted the name. “I am _Luke Skywalker_. Son of Anakin Skywalker and Padme Amidala. Grandson of Shmi Skywalker. Nephew of Owen and Beru Lars.”

“Yes.” Emperor Vader sounded pleased. He set his hands on Luke's shoulders. “You are.” 

Luke settled himself back onto the bed, feeling exhausted and wrung out. Not miserable, for the first time in a long time, he was calm, …and the fear that had eaten up so much of his attention had abated. “I don’t want to be a bother,” he said, and Vader waved a hand. “I’m…hungry.”

“You’re hungry?” Was it bizarre to think that he was…pleased? Pleased that Luke was hungry?

“Yes….Father.” Luke tried the word out. For the first time, it didn’t sting his tongue.

“That,” The Sith Emperor had to be beaming behind his mask. Luke wasn’t sure. “Is _excellent_ news.”


	5. A New Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke goes home and sees his family.

Tatooine hadn’t changed much, Luke thought as he climbed out of the pilot’s chair and moved through the shuttle and toward the boarding ramp. It was still unbearably hot. The suns burned as brightly as ever, and the wind carried the scent of oil and sand. 

It smelled like home. 

The homestead didn’t look much different than before.

“Are you ready?” He asked his father. The man was standing at the end of the boarding ramp, unmoving. He seemed to be entranced by the sight of the small homestead. “Father?” 

“It has not changed.” Vader turned, examining as much of the farm as was above ground.

“No,” Luke agreed, and he walked a few feet forward until he was at Gottschalk’s grave. The headstone had been recently cleaned. His stuffed animal was missing. Vader seemed entranced by his mother’s grave. He stared at the weatherbeaten headstone. His grief was as strong as ever.

Luke stared down and blinked when a shadow came from his left. 

It was Uncle Owen, looked almost exactly the same, save for the grief in his eyes. “Luke?” He asked as if the blond in front of him might be a mirage. “Son?” 

Luke blinked back tears, lifting his hands and lowering his hood. “Uncle Owen,” he hesitated. He had left. He had...broken his promise and he had run away. “I.” 

“Luke,” the older man gasped. Staggering the distance separating them, and yanked Luke into a hug. It felt like coming home. “Luke, you’re alright. Where have you been? Luke. Are you okay?”

Luke froze, staring at the rough fabric of his uncle’s cloak, and gulped. Gingerly, his arms wrapped around the older man. “Uncle Owen.” He smelled the same. Like sand, the suns, and sweat mixed with motor oil. “Oh, suns! Uncle Owen, I’ve missed you.”

“Where were you? We thought you were dead! We thought you’d been taken. Luke,” Owen pulled away but didn’t let go. Luke was shocked to see the beginnings of tears in his eyes. Owen never cried, at least, not where Luke could see. It was a waste of water, and the man was too smart to waste his water. “Luke, son. Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“I’m okay, Uncle Owen,” Luke promised. “I’m sorry I’m late. Um, is Aunt Beru alright?” 

“She’s fine,” Owen shook his head. He pulled Luke close again. “What happened?” 

“We should...talk inside.” Luke turned back to his father. The emperor was staring at the scene, visibly jealous. His disguise would work, but he wasn’t accustomed to being ignored. 

“Who’s this?” Owen asked. His expression shifting in a heartbeat. “What is he doing here?” 

“This is...my father,” Luke admitted slowly, a bit confused to see the expression of alarm spreading across Owen’s face. “Um, my biological father. He’s alive.” 

“Huh.” Owen glared at Vader, “alright. Inside it is.” Luke smiled and let him guide him down into the familiar courtyard. As he entered into the kitchen, he smiled as Aunt Beru turned at the commotion. She had her familiar knife in hand, and at the sight of Luke, it clattered to the floor. 

“LUKE!” She cried, launching herself across the room. Just like her husband, she enveloped Luke into a hug that crushed him against her chest. “Luke! You’re alive! You’re here! Oh, Luke! We’ve been missing you! We were so worried about you! What happened? Luke, why did you leave.”

Luke smiled and then blushed as she kissed his cheeks, then his forehead, and then his cheeks again. “Aunt Beru.” 

“Don’t you dare complain,” she ordered, and she squeezed his cheeks between strong fingers. “You vanished! I thought you were dead! You disappeared into the night and we only found footprints and the glass. You left Ari, Luke! What could we think?” 

“I’m sorry,” Luke said, “I’m sorry. I just….I had to….there was a bounty hunter and you were in danger. He said...he’d hurt you. I...I’m sorry, Aunt Beru.” 

“A bounty hunter?” 

“Boba Fett.” His tongue stuck to the top of his throat. He didn’t want to explain why there had been a bounty hunter after him, but he didn’t have a choice at this point. “I...Aunt Beru...Uncle Owen.” 

“Those scoundrels,” Beru hissed, pulling Luke close again, and kissing the top of his head as he leaned against her comfortable shoulder. “How dare they scare you like this? How dare they hunt you. My sweet sun drop.” 

“Aunt Beru,” Luke blushed and she smacked his shoulders. 

“Who is this?” She looked over his shoulder at Vader, who was ducking into the kitchen. 

“My father.” He said and yelped when Aunt Beru went for her broom. “Aunt Beru!” 

“YOU!” With her broom, Beru stormed across the kitchen, hefting it threateningly. “YOU MONSTER! GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! OUT! OUT!” Luke watched as Beru Lars repeatedly smacked Emperor Vader about the shoulders and head with her broom. 

“Aunt Beru!” Luke cried, “hold on! Hold on! Please, can you hit him after I’ve explained everything?” 

“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD!” Aunt Beru shouted, catching Vader across the side of his head. The man caught the broom and held fast as she tried to tug it back. “LET GO!”

“How?” Luke blinked, but he had told them that his parents were dead. “Aunt Beru, please, let me explain everything...then you can hit him.”

Vader turned an offended stare on him. “Luke!” 

“She’s always pretty dangerous with the broom,” Luke muttered and turned a pleading gaze on his aunt. “Please, I’ll explain everything.”

“Fine,” she tugged her broom back, and Vader let go. 

When they were all in the living room, Luke was reminded sharply of the nights that he had spent working on his projects and games while at his aunt and uncle’s feet as they enjoyed their relative quiet. Here was his home, the first place he’d felt safe and happy. He owed so much to his aunt and uncle, and he could never repay them. 

“Boba Fett came to...the homestead after the day in town.” He glanced at Aunt Beru. He was refusing to sit, too nervous to do anything but pace. At least his father was sitting, staring at the moisture farmers from beneath his mask and veil. “I couldn’t sleep that night...so I was up and I found him in the garage.”

“You went with him.” Uncle Owen didn’t sound mad, but Luke still averted his eyes as he nodded. 

“He threatened you, and after everything you’ve done...I didn’t want you to get hurt.” He stared at them, begging for them to understand. “He’s dangerous...and if I hadn’t there’s no telling what would have happened.” Luke gulped and paced some more across the small room. “He was after me because...I am the Red Prince. I was the missing Prince Luke.” The admission filled him with dread, fear, and horror even as a heavyweight lifted from his shoulders. After 10 years, they finally knew the truth. 

They knew the truth about him, they knew that he was not who he said he was. They knew he was not...as he seemed. 

Words tumbled out of his mouth as he tried to explain everything. As he tried to assuage the blank looks in their eyes. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was...I was afraid to tell you. I was scared. I thought you’d throw me out. I thought you’d stake me in the desert because I was a monster.” Luke shook his head. The lengthening fringe now brushing along his shoulders. “I know something had to happen to Mr. Bonebare, and he went missing the night you went out with your blaster rifle.” Luke blurted, and Uncle Owen blinked. That had happened after Luke was supposed to have been in bed. But he’d been confused why Uncle Owen had insisted on tucking him in that night. Luke had been fifteen, and too old to be tucked in. “I didn’t want you to hate me. I was...I was a coward, but I was so scared and I was a prince and the whole galaxy was hunting me. There was a coup and my...protector died and I had no one else and I was afraid if you knew the truth then you…” His voice trailed off. “Then you’d sell me.” 

“Huh,” Owen pulled on his beard and exchanged a look with Beru.

“Did you...know?” Luke asked and sank to his knees in shock as neither one made a move to correct him. Hands scraping against the floor, he gaped at his adopted parents. “You...knew?” 

“Luke,” Aunt Beru slid off the couch, kneeling next to him and enveloping his stiff shoulders in a hug. “Luke, my sun drop. Luke, we never would have sold you to anyone. We never thought about collecting that bounty. We love you. More than anyone, more than anything.” 

Luke blinked and instinctively leaned his head against Uncle Owen’s when the man joined them on the floor. 

“You knew...and you still cared?”

“Always,” Owen said gruffly. “Son, you were a kriffing miracle. You were...the greatest thing that this old couple could have gotten. Finding you in the desert was a gift from the desert.”

“Even though...as far as you knew....I was Palpatine’s son?” 

“You’re your own man, and your father doesn’t define you,” Owen grumbled. “Have to keep telling you that.” 

Luke glanced at Vader and scrubbed the tears away from his eyes. “I love you,” he blurted. “I love you so much. I owe you my life, my happiness, and the fact that I can even think. I love you, and...I hope that I can be a man that will make you proud.”

“You already are,” Owen said, cupping the back of his head. “You never had anything to prove to us, son. Never, no matter what people say or even what you think, you’re our son.” 

“I…” Luke let out a tearful chuckle. “So...keep that in mind, because it gets weirder.” 

They stood as a group, Luke still reeling and shocked. He scrubbed his face clean of tears and grinned. “So, um...I was actually kidnapped when I was a baby.” Identical expressions of horror were stamped over their faces. “Um...so he pretended that I was his son. It turns out...that my biological father...is actually Anakin Skywalker.” 

“Anakin!” Owen shouted, and turned to Vader. “My baby brother?” 

Luke, despite the stress and the nervousness of the situation, laughed. 

“Just because you’re a few years older,” Vader groused, “doesn’t mean you can call me baby brother.” 

“I can too!” Owen snapped. “Where have you been? We thought you were dead? What happened? How did the old shit get Luke? How could you let that happen to your own son?” 

Luke gulped, holding tight to Aunt Beru as Vader finally stood and unclipped his veil. Both moisture farmers gasped as the mask of Emperor Vader was revealed. The only noise was his respirators and Luke’s nervous gulps of air. 

Uncle Owen blinked and then shook his head. “Mom would be so disappointed in you.” 

Luke froze, as the storm of his father’s fury rose and then died suddenly. Vader’s shoulders slumped, and he settled back onto the couch. 

“I know,” Vader lowered his head and then jerked up and away as Beru swung her broom again. 

“YOU WERE HUNTING HIM! YOU HAD A BOUNTY ON HIS HEAD!” Beru shouted. “Do you have any idea the amount of paranoia and terror we dealt with on a daily basis. We thought you wanted him dead! We’ve been watching and waiting to hear news that our son was dead! Dead because he couldn’t control who his father was! We’ve been terrified and you offered almost half a billion credits for your own son!” 

“I would have offered more!” Vader exclaimed. “I would have offered two billion. I would have traded the Empire for an opportunity to see my son. If I could, I would offer you the galaxy for what you’ve done for him.” Beru blinked. “I would give you anything you want, anything you need, for having raised Luke to be a strong...good man. A better than me. A better man than I’ve ever known. I feared he was dead! I feared he was enslaved! That fact that he came back to me in one piece, healthy and whole is...it can never be repaid.” Vader stared at his sister-in-law. 

“What happened to you?” Owen asked, and he shook his head. “Anakin. What happened?” 

“I…,” Vader hung his head. Luke had never heard of his father being spoken to as if they were disappointed in him. He had never heard anyone correct Lord Vader. “I...Fell from the Light. I went...mad. I was driven insane.”

“You…” Owen scrubbed a hand down his face. “What happened with the girl you were with? The pretty off-worlder?”

“We married,” Vader admitted, “shortly after we left...and she died the day the Empire was born. Enemies of mine absconded with the children.”

“Children?” Beru interrupted. 

“Twins,” Luke told her, “I...I have a twin sister. Her name is Leia.” 

Beru and Owen made no move to comfort Vader, but they exchanged glances. “My...children were separated...Luke was lost to Palpatine’s agents and Leia was hidden away...by my wife’s allies.”

“What happened to you,” Owen demanded. “We buried Mom and you...you went to war! You were everywhere and then we heard that you had been killed but you turned out to be this?” 

“It was the war, wasn’t it?” Beru gulped. 

“It was the war...and so much more.” He turned to glance at Luke, and then away. “I cannot explain what happened or what I have become without forever ruining what little image you have of me. You correct...Owen. My mother...our mother would not recognize her son. She would not love the monster that stands in his place. I did not come here today to...I came here today for Luke.” 

“I wanted to see you,” Luke whispered. “It’s been such a long time and I...I wanted to see you and I asked Father to come along.” 

“We’ve missed you so much.” Beru hugged him again. 

“So...I really am your nephew.” Luke grinned and wondered if Aunt Beru would ever really understand just how much that meant to him. If she’d know that this meant more to him than even his title as Crown Prince. “And...Leia is amazing, Aunt Beru. You’re going to like her so much! She was raised as the Princess of Alderaan. She’s actually going to be the queen there someday. She’s so smart and wise, and clever.”

“Huh,” the small living room rang with silence as the small family tried to come to terms with everything they’d learned. Luke had learned that Owen and Beru liked to think over problems. It was making Vader nervous. 

He was a man used to everyone around him making snap decisions and judgments, the longer he waited for judgement...the more nervous he got. 

“Are you still good with machines?” Owen asked, stirring from his thoughts. Luke blinked and nodded. But Uncle Owen had been talking to Vader. The emperor stared at him and then nodded. “Good, the vaporator on the Southern ridge needs work. You can help me.” Without waiting for a word, Owen left the small room. After a moment of silence, Vader followed. Luke shrugged when his father looked to him for an explanation. 

“Are they going to be alright?” Luke asked his aunt. 

“Sometimes, brothers just need to talk.” She was handling it well, but Luke could tell she was a bit shocked. Probably stunned by the news that her adoptive son was technically her nephew, and her brother-in-law had been Emperor Vader for ten years now. 

“Are you...are you mad at me? For running away, I mean?” 

“I wish you had never felt the need to run away,” Beru told him. “Or that you felt the need to turn yourself over to a bounty hunter and an emperor just for us.” 

“I...I was trying to protect you,” Luke sighed, his shoulders slumped. “It was...it was my turn to protect you.”

“Oh, Luke.” Beru hugged him tight, hardly speaking. 

So much had been lost. Luke had never really dwelled on what he’d never had or what he could have had, until now. When bitterness and hatred at the whole galaxy rose up his throat and squeezed it shut. He hated Palpatine for everything he done. He even hated his father for hunting him or wanting him. He hated his mother for dying. His father for falling. He hated the galaxy and everyone in it for a long white-hot second that eclipsed every other feeling in his body. 

He could have been normal! He could look at the desert hovel he’d grown up in without feeling the misplaced guilt of a child who always felt like a burden. He could have never known what it was like to see murders and executions on his birthdays. He could have taken turbolifts without ever thinking about what their shafts looked like. He could have stumbled on a rocky hillside of Alderaan without suffering a panic attack. 

Luke tried to think of how grateful he was, how grateful he should be, that he had gotten something close to a normal childhood. But all he could feel was bitter hatred at the sheer injustice of it all. 

He had been the pawn, the tool, the prop, and the toy and for a moment he wanted to start screaming and breaking everything he could get his hands on. 

He felt like he was fifteen again, sobbing pathetically into his aunt’s shoulders when he felt as if he should have outgrown such ridiculousness. He didn’t want to be stoic and brave, he wanted to whine and cry for all to hear. 

“My sundrop,” Aunt Beru whispered into his hair as he clutched her close. “My little sundrop. My baby. Oh, Luke.” She was crying too and as much as Luke wanted to feel guilty for making her cry, he was selfishly glad she was. 

“I’m sorry,” he hiccuped. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been so afraid. I’ve been so scared. I don’t know how not to be. I...I was so scared that you’d hate me. I was so scared that you...that you wouldn’t want me anymore.” 

“You’re always going to be my son,” Beru promised. “No matter what anyone says...or what anyone thinks.” 

Luke, as he had discovered in the intervening year at the palace and then visits to Alderaan. Was susceptible to kindness the same way most were susceptible to hatred. He hadn’t realized just most much more kindness ached against a heart that was slowly learning how to handle it. Like warmth after a day of chill, it burned. 

The various insecurities that had kept him from wholly accepting his aunt and uncle as much as they accepted him, melted away in the single moment when an aged moisture farmer held the weeping Imperial Prince without judgment and without reservation. 

Vader might be his Father, but he would never replace Owen. His mother would forever be Beru Lars, even if Padme Amidala had brought him into the galaxy. 

When Luke had finally pulled away, scrubbed at his red and puffy eyes, Beru offered a wane smile. “You have a sister?”

“My twin sister,” Luke nodded. “I didn’t even know she existed until half a year ago. I guess Father found out while I was gone...but she was already in line for her own throne so they agreed that there would probably be a conflict of interest.” He stared at his hands. “I...I’m going to start university soon.” 

“You’re going to go to school?” Beru clapped, beaming. “Oh, you’re not going to one of the military academies are you?” 

“No, a civilian academy. Um...on Naboo. I’m going to be living there for a while. So….I can come back and visit.” 

“And we can visit you?” Beru asked, and Luke nodded. 

“What has happened in the last year...I know that I missed a lot.” 

“Well,” Beru sat on the couch, pulling Luke down beside her. “There’s been a lot.” 

#$#$#$#

The guts of the moisture vaporator were spread over the sand and Vader’s lap. He was diligently cleaning and scrubbing the worn-out pieces and preparing to reassemble the whole machine. Owen hadn’t spoken yet, he was watching Vader’s movement with a blank expression. Vader was willing to wait as much as he didn’t want to wait. 

He had so little family left, and Owen had raised Luke. It was important that he impress the older man. It rankled him to think he needed to impress anyone, but Vader had learned that caring for his children’s adoptive parents went a long way to ensuring that they all got along. 

“You know Dad was never the same after Mom died,” Owen said, and Vader paused in his work. That was not the route he was expecting the conversation to go. “I never told Luke this, but the last three years he was alive he was a right old bastard.” Vader stopped and watched his step-brother stare into the horizon. “Just about everything set him off. He lost his wife...but I lost my mom.” He stared at Vader.

“You raised him well,” the emperor offered. “I have never met a better man. He is wise beyond his years.”

“He had to be, he was in a pit for years. That snake lied to him, treated him like dirt. I know that girl...you were with died.” 

The Sith nodded, the grief as strong as ever. “Her death...and I thought Luke had died with her. I cannot...ever repay the great thing you have done. Saving a strange boy...raising him to be a good man.” 

“We tried...we tried but there was that bounty hanging over his head. There’s a kind of fear that just doesn’t go away.” 

“No,” Vader agreed. Many therapists had agreed as well. Luke was a young man and he had suffered more in his first ten years than most would suffer in a lifetime. 

“If you’re going to be taking care of him, Anakin, then you’ve got to listen. You’ve got to be calm and patient, and none of that crazy temper of yours. You hear me?” 

Smiling, because it had been decades since anyone had treated him with so little reverence. “I do. Luke will be attending the University of Theed. He will have ample time to visit and you will have many opportunities to assess how he is faring.” 

“University,” Owen leaned back on his heels, amazed. “A real school?” Vader could see the man running the numbers and the expenses in his head, calculating how much it would cost a poor moisture farmer to afford. “Couldn have used his help on the farm,” the man rubbed his chin, but he was grinning proudly. 

Vader wanted to offer the man a substantial reward. He wanted to offer the equivalent of Luke’s bounty, if not more, to the man who had raised Luke. He knew that Owen’s pride wouldn’t allow him to take the money. It would insult his sense of duty. As a father, it was only right he took care of his adoptive son, and any money offered would be a mockery. That didn’t mean he couldn’t give them gifts. 

“What happened?” Owen’s next words broke through Vader’s pleasant thoughts. “Mom died, you left, and then everyone said you were dead. You went from being a Jedi to...this?” A rough hand gestured at Vader in a way that conveyed both insult and confusion. 

“Classified.” Vader began to reassemble the machine.

“I’m your brother.” 

“And you still might talk to others.” Vader snapped, prickling anger and a faint sense of shame coloring his words. Vulnerability made him tetchy unless it was with Luke. Luke didn’t need to be burdened with all of Vader’s trauma when he was already drowning in his own. 

“Family business is no business for anyone else,” Owen glared. “You’re my brother, even if you’ve become unrecognizable.” Affirming words, and Vader knew how lucky he was to hear them. Owen might be forgiving in the gruff, moisture farmers way, but the others in Vader’s life had not been. His daughter still held him at arm's length. The Naberries refused to meet with Vader, even if they were willing to meet with Luke and Leia. He had only his clone troopers and only part of his son. Luke’s willingness to give Vader a chance was riddled with caveats and ingrained suspicion. Owen was the only other man in his life who would understand the pain of losing Shmi, the horror of losing the woman he loved, and the agony of knowing his son had suffered by his own hand.

Vader sighed, and opened his mouth. 

#$#$3

Vader felt different when he returned with Uncle Owen. His whole person seemed brighter, light, some enormous weight had risen from his shoulders. There was grief too, ever-present, had eased. He had his hands full of parts, and oil and dirt smeared over his hands and arms. 

Their conversation came to a halt as Luke stepped into the courtyard, eyeing his guardians suspiciously. 

Eventually, Vader spoke. “Luke.” 

“Father...did you get it fixed?” 

“About as well as it can be,” the emperor stared at him, and Luke flushed at the assessing gaze. 

“You know that one is always so finicky,” Owen brushed past his brother to hug Luke. “I swear you fixed that thing a dozen or so times. Anakin tells me that you’re going to a real school.” 

“I am.” 

“You’ll do your best? Come visit us?” 

“I will.” Luke promised, and didn’t bother with pulling himself free. None of the hugs he’d received since his return to the Imperial Palace could measure up to Uncle Owen’s. Here, he felt safe and whole. Memories of his tumultuous arrival were smoothed around the glow of his first meeting with his guardians. “I promise.” 

“Good,” Owen drew away, “come on. I smell something delicious. What did you two make?” 

“Food.” 

“Food is good, will you be spending the night?” 

“I,” Luke glanced back at his father, who was following at a sedate pace. “Yes, we will.” 

“Good, I’ve got a gift for you?”

“A gift?”

“After dinner,” Owen promised. 

To say that Luke was shocked to be presented with his worn-out slightly faded nerf, would be an understatement. Uncle Owen presented the prince his familiar toy, gruffly ignoring the tender, stunning way that Luke clutched it close. 

“We knew you’d gone for good,” Owen sat beside Beru. “When we found Ari sitting out on the grave.” 

“I’m sorry,” Luke choked out, squeezing the toy between nerveless fingers. “Uncle Owen, I’m so sorry.” 

“You don’t need to say that,” Owen scoffed. “We understand, son. As much as we don’t like it, we understand.” 

“I…,” Luke gulped. “Alright.” 

He didn’t let go of his toy. Even as the conversation flowed around him, discussing the merits of Beru running for local office, the replacement of a vaporator, and of what might happen in the future for Luke’s and Anakin’s visit. Luke stared at the stuffed nerf, contemplating what it meant and what it represented. 

Home, love, attention, a new beginning, a childhood that he had scraped out of the most unusual circumstances. It was his first toy, the first sign of no-strings-attached affection. It was the first of his new life and the last of the old. Other gifts had never come to mean half as much to Luke 

He wondered what this feeling was. Getting stronger with each second as he listened to his family talk around him. His father, once a monster of his worst nightmares who had loomed as large. Owen and Beru, his parents in all but name. The more he thought about it, the more he figured out what it was.

Luke rubbed the worn head of the knitted nerf and as the voice of his family drifted around him, blooming in his chest was a new hope.


End file.
